This is Wrapping Up Quite Nicely
by BandGeek58407
Summary: After a huge misunderstanding, McGonagall and Dumbledore grapple with their feelings for each other while McGonagall is in America and Dumbledore helps Snape cope after the first fall of Voldermort, as well as cause some mayhem. MMAD many OCs, other pairs
1. A New School Year

Welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfiction! Yaaaaay! Just so you know, this is a time that I wish we could have three genres to categorize fanfics under…because this is really a Romance/Comedy/Drama. The mood tends to change quickly sometimes…I hope it's not a bad thing.

Disclaimer: As sad as I am to admit it, I don't own any of the characters or ideas of J.K. Rowling or any of the other copyrighted things I may mention. I do own the characters I created, which aren't in the first chapter anyway, so they don't matter right now. And another thing…be sure you've read Deathly Hallows before reading this…it could get confusing in later chapters.

And one other note (last one, I swear…): I came up with this story before I read book 7, which reminded me that the Potters died on Halloween, and told me it happened in the eighties. Well…that's not really how it works out here, so please forgive me. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 

August 31. The day before students return to Hogwarts, and also the last peaceful day at the castle. Teachers bustled about, getting supplies ready and hurriedly cleaning off extra copies of books and other assorted items. Minerva McGonagall was not among them, which was most unusual. She sat silently at her desk, head in hands. Her gaze rested on her bookshelf as she whistled a hollowly cheerful tune that was greatly contradicted by the glare she wore on her face. One would have thought she was about to hand out a punishment to a student.

After a while, the whistling was replaced by nearly incoherent mutterings to herself. "Still can't believe myself…" was heard the most often.

A sudden crash from outside the door woke her from her deep thought as an argument broke out between Professor Sprout and Filch.

"Look at all this dragon dung! Exactly how much had you been carrying?!"

Sighing, McGonagall ran to the door and quickly halted before stepping into any of Sprout's fertilizer, which had somehow been flung over a great portion of the surrounding hallway.

"Professor McGonagall! Look at this! And just after I cleaned this hallway!" Filch fumed, pointing at the dung-covered walls. "What am I supposed to do? Clean it up again, I guess—"

"ARGUS!" McGonagall snapped, creating a sudden silence. She took a deep breath before continuing. Even then, he could tell she was still frustrated. "No, I do not expect you to clean this up; Professor Sprout can do it with magic. And maybe you should, you know…_cool it_…for a moment since you've already cleaned every other part of the castle twenty times in the past three seconds! And you could probably take a break and maybe…" She picked up a few strands of his filthy hair with a slight look of disgust. "…take the extra time to…clean your hair. And that new cat of yours, too, she smells something terrible."

Sprout and Filch stared at her, mouths agape. McGonagall stared back, and shooed the stunned caretaker away. Professor Sprout took the opportunity to clean the mess up with a simple flick of her wand.

"Are you all right, Minerva?" she asked tentatively, bag of fertilizer in hand.

"What?" McGonagall said with a slight air of surprise. "Oh, yes, why do you ask?" Her voice was unusually high-pitched and she spoke faster than necessary.

"You seem a little…off," Sprout continued with trepidation. "Ever since last year's end of term feast—"

"What about it?"

Sprout set down the fertilizer and approached McGonagall, getting on her tiptoes in order for them to be eye-to-eye. "I saw Albus hug you," she whispered. "You haven't been right since."

McGonagall stared for a brief moment before turning away. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sprout stomped her foot impatiently. "Give that attitude a rest, Minerva! You acting like some emotional adolescent!"

There was no response; McGonagall knew Sprout was dead on the money. Fortunately, the awkward silence did not last long. The main entrance doors opened suddenly and in walked (of all people) Albus Dumbledore.

"Afternoon, Pomona, Minerva," he nodded, seeing as both of his hands were each holding a half-eaten chocolate bar. He walked up to them, chewing a bite of one. "Muggles can make some delicious candy, you know. Try a bite!" He held one out, and McGonagall cautiously broke off a piece and ate it.

"Mmm…" she muttered, chewing with some difficulty. "What…what do they call this?"

Dumbledore smiled childishly. "A Snickers bar!"

There was a brief pause. "Why?" Sprout snorted. "I'm not laughing."

"Me neither," Dumbledore continued, his grin widening. "But there's the Muggle magic!"

"Really!" McGonagall said, swallowing her piece and attempting not to look so confused. She had a feeling she was failing miserably.

"Well, have a nice day, ladies. The all-faculty dinner's at seven, and I'd love for you two to join us!" He half-skipped off down the corridor, finishing up the candy in the meantime.

"Oho!" Sprout said quietly. "I think we both know what the password to his office will be this year, huh!" She giggled a bit, and elbowed her colleague. "Staring is rude, you know."

McGonagall quickly averted her gaze from the cheerful headmaster back to Sprout. "Right…terribly sorry, dear," she sighed. "Well…I've got to go fix …that thing…that broke…in my office. I'll see you later."

"Right," Sprout muttered, unconvinced. "Come to the greenhouses and visit once you're not so moody, all right?" She hoisted up the dragon dung bag and walked out the door.

With her hands over her eyes, McGonagall slowly dragged her way back into her office and around to her desk. Only one thought ran through her mind.

_How…how could I have let myself fall in love with Albus?_

X X X 

Back in her office, McGonagall sat behind her desk, mulling things over. Apparently her recent change in mood hadn't gone as unnoticed as she'd hoped. Even Sprout realized something was up, and she was usually one of the last to catch on. The thought worried her. If Sprout had noticed, did that mean Dumbledore had too?

_Did it all really start at last year's end of term feast? _She had always greatly admired Albus…but that seemingly innocent hug he gave her…she'd never felt that way before. It was like it had awakened some dormant emotion. And now that it wasn't hibernating, the last thing it was going to do was leave her alone.

And then after all that, she didn't see him until…that fateful night in Godric's Hollow. They had both been consumed with work for the Order, and then…

It was over. She'd left the orphaned Harry on the stoop of those awful Muggles. They had met alone that night in the nearly pitch-black alleyway of Privet Drive, and even in the complete darkness, McGonagall could see his face. There were so many emotions written on it…grief, fatigue, stress, but still the tiniest bit of relief that she could tell he was upset about feeling. The weak smile he had given her kept swimming into her vision at every chance it could, making her heart beat faster and her imagination go wild.

"Agh!" she groaned. "No no no no no no…" She slammed her head onto the desk and left it there, as if that would change the situation.

Time must've passed, because before long she heard multiple knocks at her door, asking her to come down to the Great Hall. Professor Sprout protested the loudest.

"MINERVA! It's 7:20, and I better see you down there in five minutes or I'm going to bust this door down myself and _drag_ you down!"

McGonagall ignored her, and silence ensued.

"You know," Sprout said quietly, with concern. "You're really starting to worry me." And with that, McGonagall heard her footsteps die away.

She finally lifted her head and turned to her large picture window; the sun was just setting and it was casting a brilliant orange glow over the grounds. It was very relaxing.

"I was really hoping you'd join us, Minerva," said a voice at the door.

She slowly spun around and found the headmaster standing alone in the doorway. He wore a look of surprised disappointment as his gaze surveyed the office, finally resting on the slightly embarrassed McGonagall.

"I'm sorry, Albus…" She looked down, and her mind drew a blank on what else to say.

"Ah…but look! Look what Flitwick brought! And just in the spirit!" He reached in his pocket and brought out an item sort of in the shape of a Christmas popper, only it was decorated with the face of Lord Voldemort.

She took a moment to stare. "What in the world—" she wondered with a laugh.

Dumbledore held up one finger and promptly silenced her. "Watch." He pulled both ends and the popper-Voldemort gave a small scream as green and gold sparkles flew into the air. "I know you want to pop one, Minerva." He waved some of the paper remains in her face.

McGonagall finally stood up reluctantly. "I guess I am a bit hungry," she muttered.

"That's the spirit! It's not a party 'til Minerva McGonagall shows up, I always say!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, clapping her on the shoulder.

She could've sworn her heart jumped up to her throat and stayed there the entire way to the Great Hall. Dumbledore's hand was gripped to her shoulder, as if he was afraid that if he let go, she would fall, or run back to her office.

Upon their arrival, the other teachers greeted her more warmly than she would have normally expected. _Sprout probably put them up to it_, she thought, taking a seat next to Professor Sprout, who had kindly saved her a piece of the turkey.

"Filius nearly devoured the entire thing in less than a minute," she muttered in McGonagall's ear.

They both turned their gaze on the tiny Charms teacher, who was already unconscious from his immense turkey consumption. He gave a little burp and hopped right off his seat at the same time, landing on the stone floor with a thud. McGonagall and Sprout had to quickly cover up their laughter with a coughing fit.

Trying to hide a grin, Dumbledore pointed at Flitwick's empty chair. "Would someone like to pick him up off the floor, please?"

"I'll do it," said the professor next to Flitwick's spot with some contempt. And before anyone knew it, he was back in his seat looking a bit more awake.

"Wait a moment," McGonagall wondered aloud. "Is that you, Severus?"

Snape glared and refused to answer, so Dumbledore took the liberty of doing so for him. "Yes, Severus took up the Potions position."

"Wow," she said, then quickly went back to her turkey.

"I…brought some…cookies," Snape continued shortly. He held out a round-ish cookie clumsily decorated with icing to make Voldemort's face with little x's for eyes. "Muggle cookie spreadings can be most frustrating."

She took one with a giggle. "These are cute, Severus. I didn't know you baked!"

"If I can brew a potion, I can bake a cookie," he stated curtly.

The evening continued late into the night, fueled mainly by the many barrels of Madam Rosmerta's butterbeer. Everyone was having a ball with the many assorted party favors that had a distinct "Voldemort is gone" theme. The professors got louder and louder as time passed and more empty bottles piled up at the large table. McGonagall was one of the loudest ones present, only surpassed in volume when Snape yelled after getting hit in the face with a very overstuffed cream puff. Sprout seemed to be pleased that her friend was acting somewhat more normal.

But the festivities eventually had to end, seeing as students were arriving the following night. Each professor slowly made their ways back to their respective offices, some a bit more sober than others. Snape was the worst off; he zig-zagged back to his dungeon office, picking stray bits of cream out of his hair (he didn't trust himself in his state to attempt to use his wand on his face).

"You wait up," Sprout said as the crowd thinned, grabbing McGonagall's wrist. "Come talk to me in the greenhouses."

"But Pomona…" McGonagall yawned. "It's got to be at least two in the morning, and students are coming tomorrow—"

"Oh, not 'til that night, and besides, a nap tomorrow afternoon might do you some good! Come _on_!" Her relentless grip dragged McGonagall outside and past the vegetable garden. "And anyways, after tomorrow we really won't have the time to talk in private, with term starting and all." Sprout opened the door to Greenhouse One, and they sat, exhausted, down on two stools near an empty pot. "Tell me everything."

McGonagall looked at her friend with indecision and debated with herself on what to confide. "There's…not much to know." She could see Sprout raising her eyebrows, unconvinced, out of the corner of her eye. "I mean, really…what else is there? I _know_ you've figured out my end of the whole situation."

This sent Sprout into deep thought, absently chewing her tongue in the process. "I see what you're saying," she admitted. "But I may have figured out _his _end as well—"

"What?"

A sly smile crept across Sprout's face at her reaction. "Well, yeah. You wouldn't know of course, since you weren't there for the first twenty minutes of the party." She took a dramatic pause. "He looked so sad. He was the one who kept sending people to go knock on your door."

The information Sprout was relaying made McGonagall's heart knock against her ribs. (A/N: That last bit was kind of from _Macbeth_, I always loved the way it was worded.) "R-really?"

"Would I lie to you?"

McGonagall grimaced, picking at her thumbnail. "Well, I best be going. I feel a bit…"

"Emotionally drained?"

She shrugged in response and made her way to the door. "See you tomorrow, then, Pomona."

The entire way back to the castle, McGonagall was thankful to be alone again, and away from Sprout's questioning, no matter how good intentioned it had been. Part of her hoped that what her friend had said was true, but the other half was fearful about getting her hopes up too high.

Exhausted, she shuffled into her office and quickly Transfigured her desk chair into fully made twin sized bed. "There we go." Too tired to even get into a night robe, she sank into the fluffy down mattress and was about to resign herself to a fitful night of sleep when something caught her eye.

A single piece of parchment lay on her desk. _I don't remember this being here before the party…_Curious despite her fatigue, she grasped the small note and read its single line, written in handwriting that was all too familiar.

_Glad to see you're feeling better._

_-Albus_

McGonagall slipped the parchment into a pocket inside her robes, knowing she would sleep well that night.

X X X 

Hope you liked it! I'll try to update soon, but band camp's been eating my life, and by the time I get home my brain is fried from being in the sun so long. And I need to finish my summer reading…oh well. Don't forget to review!


	2. The Letter

Yay for chapter 2! As a reminder, I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters…or any other copyrighted items I may mention. However…I do own one character in this chapter, Jeremy. He's all mine. Mwahaha.

X X X 

A sharp rap on her office door woke McGonagall from her heavy slumber the next day.

"It's noon, Minerva! Get up!" called the voice of Professor Sinastra.

She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes groggily, checking her clock. _Wow…It _is_ noon…_ As she slowly walked to the door, she stretched her arms and tried to remember the last time she had slept through the night. Unfortunately, none came to mind. She opened the door and found Sinastra glaring impatiently. "Wha's the problem?" she yawned.

"The problem _is_," Sinastra explained. "that the headmaster has been trying to contact you for the past three hours, only to discover each time that you are still asleep. And on the day term begins! The last thing he needs on his mind on such a busy day is to worry about whether his deputy headmistress is comatose."

McGonagall frowned, struck dumb by fatigue-induced confusion.

"He wishes to see you in his office as soon as you're available, which I suspect will be in a few minutes now that you're up and about." She nodded good-bye and hurried off down the hallway, leaving McGonagall, completely disheveled, in her doorway.

"It'll take me a while to get to his office," she muttered to herself, and with a wave of her wand, her clothes were changed into fresh ones and her dark hair was wrapped up tight in her trademark bun.

She took off down the hall towards his office, trying to walk determinedly rather than frantically, hoping that she wouldn't run into Sprout along the way. Her thoughts were trying to understand why Dumbledore needed her so urgently, and she was attempting to keep them realistic. _It's probably just to discuss the coming school year, we haven't done that yet…or…could Pomona be right? But why now? Don't be silly, Minerva…it's school related…it's school related…that's all it is…_ She was soon standing in front of the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the office door. "Snickers bar," McGonagall stated with confidence.

She smiled as the gargoyle hopped aside and she slowly ascended the stairs. Her hand paused slightly before knocking.

"Come in."

Hardly breathing and sure her face was a nice scarlet, McGonagall cautiously stepped inside Dumbledore's eccentric office and made a point to look more at his knick-knacks than him.

"Ah, Minerva. Finally up, I see?"

McGonagall gave a small grin and continued to stare at something other than him. Namely, the floor. She had never noticed what a pretty rug he had there before.

Dumbledore stared at her with a sort of confused curiosity as her face continued to go redder like a ripe tomato. This was _very_ unlike her. "Snickers bar?" he offered carefully, holding a couple already?

McGonagall finally looked up at him and his light blue eyes…silver hair…kind smile…until she had to look away again. She took the candy bar and sat down in one of his chintz armchairs as he did the same behind his large desk. The Snickers bar felt heavy in her hand and almost seemed to emphasize the silence. "So…" she ventured. "Where do you keep getting all of these?" She took the chance to look up.

"My brother, Aberforth, lives next door to Muggle candy shop in London and sends them to me. He thinks I'm allergic to nuts and hopes to give me hives. But I'm not _really_ allergic to nuts, that was…well, he got me mixed up with someone else. I myself am allergic to zebras." Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "But discussing my food allergies is not why I asked you to come here."

_Uh-oh…_McGonagall thought, even though her heart began to thump with adrenaline. Her chest clenched up nervously and just seemed to make her heart beat faster.

He stood up, and with a flick of the wand, his chair was repositioned nearby, facing her. He took a seat and leaned towards her, speaking quietly. "Can I tell you a story?"

"Only if it has a happy ending."

"I sure hope so." He paused and their gazes locked. McGonagall couldn't look away even if she had remotely wanted to. It seemed silly now that she had avoided looking at him earlier.

"Once upon a time," he started. "There was a very evil person named Lord Boldeport who caused all sorts of mayhem and was a general pain in the rear to all the other good people in the world. The only other person he was rumored to be afraid of defeating him was a man by the name of Frederick Bumble…bee."

She could have sworn an expression crossed his face that clearly said "Okay…that was a stupid choice of a name." She mentioned nothing, but just raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"But Boldeport wanted to get rid of Frederick and first set out to destroy all who were close to him. Thankfully, Frederick's only living relative was well hidden and there was really no other loved ones Boldeport could possibly harm. However…" Dumbledore paused, readjusting his seating and moving his face a few inches closer to McGonagall's.   
His voice dropped a few decibel levels.

"He did have one more loved one that nobody, even Boldeport, knew of. He was madly in love with a certain woman, but had never told her or anyone for fear of what Boldeport would do to her if he knew. But one day, Boldeport fell, and everyone, including Frederick, was very happy." He smiled, almost sheepishly.

"D-did…Frederick ever tell the woman?" McGonagall asked shakily. Her heart beat so hard that it was almost painful.

Dumbledore leaned in a little closer, his voice a barely audible whisper. "I think…he was just about to…" He brought his hand up to her cheek; they were barely an inch apart—

WHAM!

The door flew open, and Dumbledore and McGonagall both quickly leaned back in their chairs. They stared at their small, panting visitor.

"G-got a letter for Professor McGonagall. I found it in the Owlrey. The poor thing looked awfully confused." The small girl stared back at them. "Was I interrupting anything?"

_You have no idea._ "No dear," McGonagall sighed, brushing off the front of her robes. She stood up and took the letter, which was inside what looked like a Muggle envelope.

Dumbledore looked the girl over curiously, then spoke with a hint of frustration. "Not to be rude, but why are you at the castle? Students don't arrive until tonight."

"Oh," she squeaked. "Professor Vector gave me a ride early, he's my neighbor. We live so far from London it would've been hard for my mum to get me to the station on time." She turned and gazed back and forth from Dumbledore to McGonagall, who were either standing or pacing, looking away from each other awkwardly. "I almost forgot to introduce myself. Name's Nymphadora Tonks, but you can call me Tonks; I hate my first name." Tonks smiled and started to back up towards the door. "See you." The door closed infinitely quieter than it had opened, and then the only sound was the ripping of the envelope.

"Looks like it's from my sister," she muttered.

"The one in Connecticut?"

"Yes." McGonagall paused to read, and her expression changed quickly to surprise and shock. "My Muggle sister's gone and got herself terribly injured and won't be able to participate in my nephew's wedding in the winter. She wants me to take her place, seeing as I'm her closest living relative."

"Minerva, you've never met your nephew."

She frowned and tucked the letter inside her robes. "That's why she wants me to come early and get to know him." Her smile as she said this was grim, as if she knew exactly what Dumbledore was thinking.

"So!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "When do you leave?" He eyed a piece of shiny paper still gripped in her hand.

She squinted to read the tiny print. "My 'plane' leaves in an hour from Heathrow Airport…"

"From what I've heard about Muggle air travel, it looks like you're going to miss it."

"No, not likely," She waved her wand and conjured her carpetbag, fully packed. "I'm just going to Apparate into a bathroom past all this security she told me about in the letter. Shouldn't be difficult…"

As she hurriedly shoved her ticket into her bag, Dumbledore simply stared. "So what am I supposed to do for a Transfiguration teacher for first term?"

"D-don't be ridiculous, Albus," McGonagall stuttered, thrown off by his mood swing. "You taught my subject once, and it's only for a few months!"

"I haven't been in the classroom for years! I can't just merrily skip back to teaching after that long! And on top of all the things I have to do as headmaster, it would be almost too much! Besides, what if something bad happens? You're my right hand if Hogwarts is attacked. You're abandoning your school."

"I think you forget…" she whispered quietly, again looking away from his face. "You forget…Voldemort's gone. The Order's disbanded. Hogwarts won't be attacked! You say I'm abandoning my school, when I've done so much…Albus, if I don't go, I'd be abandoning my family! You said it yourself; I've never met my nephew Jeremy. I haven't seen my sister since she last came to England on business, and that was fifteen years ago!" She stared at him, unsure of everything. It seemed Tonks' interruption jarred her back from a fantasy she may have only imagined. "You know you'd do the same for Aberforth, even if he does hate you." She turned away, grabbed her bag decisively and hurried towards the office door.

"Fine…leave…go…see if I…" Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on the door as it closed loudly behind her. Suddenly, all his misplaced anger dissipated, and all he could manage was a broken whisper. "See if I care…" Fawkes blinked at him from across the room, looking sullenly at the door. _What have I just done?_

Meanwhile, McGonagall was trudging across the grounds to get to a spot where she could Apparate. She watched the bag swing like a deadweight in her hand, and noticed a dark spot on an edge. _Odd…it wasn't supposed to rain today…_ Her fingers ran over the mark and then slowly back up to her face. They came back wet, covered in tears.

X X X 

The past few hours had been a blur. McGonagall now found herself on the stoop of a very nice brick house in Hartford, Connecticut and was trying to recall how she got there.

She remembered the alarmed looks of the Muggles when they heard the crack of her Apparating into a (thankfully) empty stall in the bathroom. Fortunately she'd been able to convince them it was her metal glasses case hitting the toilet. It was also very lucky all of them were too busy to notice that no one had seen her enter. She remembered asking a clerk for help, saying she "was an old confused woman from the country who'd never been in an airport before" and how he assisted her onto the plane. They'd landed, taken a horrible ride in one of those contraptions they call cars, and here she stood, staring at the front door to her sister's house and unsure what to do. "I guess I should knock," she muttered. She picked up the heavy brass knocker cautiously, gave it a few whacks, and quickly backed away.

A few moments later the door opened, revealing a tall handsome young man with pale skin, jet-black hair, and piercing blue eyes (which were only too familiar). "Hello?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Jeremy?"

A wave of realization seemed to hit him. "Aunt Minerva!" he exclaimed, bringing her into an embrace. "It's so nice to finally meet you!" Jeremy took a step back and looked her over. "Come on in, you must be sweltering in that dress you have on."

She nodded gratefully, but wished the only Muggle dress she'd remembered to bring wasn't so heavy. It was still summer, after all. He led her inside, at almost at once a sudden breeze of cold air wafted over her. "Brr…it's so chilly in here!"

"Don't you have air conditioning in England?"

"No, no…I don't have any of this…" She paused mid-sentence to play with a light switch and stared with curiosity at the hall light turning on and off.

"Electricity?" Jeremy said, eyebrow arched. "Wow. Mom was right. You _do _live out in the boonies. You're not Amish, are you?"

"I'm what?"

"Guess not." He walked over to the stairway. "Let me show you to your room."

She followed him closely up the stairs, taking in her surroundings. The entire atmosphere of this place was so much lighter than the grim stone of Hogwarts. The wood was polished, the walls were a cream-colored plaster, and then there was all this…electricity stuff…it was all so foreign. _Sure…I can fight off Dark wizards and such, but I'm helpless around all these Muggle items…_

Jeremy led her to a cozy little bedroom at the top of the stairs. It only had a couple pieces of furniture, but the paint job made McGonagall feel right at home. "Thank you, dear. I really like the red and gold paint. It's very soothing."

He simply nodded, not sure how to respond to her peculiar comment; paint had never soothed _him_ before. He took the chance to steal a nervous glance down at his watch. "I know you're tired…it's already ten o'clock, and with jet-lag and all…"

McGonagall sank down on her bed, just then realizing how exhausted she really was. "Make sure to get rested up," he continued. "'Cause I'm taking you out tomorrow!"

"To do…what…exactly?"

"Introduce you to modern civilization, of course! If you've been living all this time without all this modern technology, you're going to have a hard time for the next few months here unless I do something." He grinned. "Good night!" He reached for the light switch.

"NO!" she yelled suddenly, alarming him. "I mean…sorry…leave it on…please."

"See you in the morning, then." Wasting no time, he closed the bedroom door and halfway leapt down the stairs. All he could do was wonder about his peculiar aunt. _I bet Kathryn's aunt isn't afraid of electricity. _

X X X 

So…please review. (I know you're out there.) It's very much appreciated on my end.


	3. It's Two AMLet's go Do Something!

Here's chapter three, all you wonderful people! Thank you so much to stsgirlie and remusROXmySOX for reviewing. Onward! (woo!) Sorry for the long wait, school and band have been taking up all my time, so between practice, homework, and Friday night games, I have almost zero free time. But, I'll try and update as soon as I can.

Before I forget…none of J.K. Rowling's characters are mine nor are the many copyrighted things I may mention. Jeremy and his family/friends _are_ mine.

X X X 

After a fitful hour of tossing and turning, McGonagall had finally been able to fall asleep. An unusually fluffy comforter surrounded her face as it screwed up in an odd expression. Her mind was consumed with a crazy nightmare…she and Dumbledore were sitting in a room full of whirring units labeled "air conditioning"…they were talking about the faculty party (had it only been a day ago?) and all of a sudden Tonks burst in and whacked her in the head with an owl. Not even a second later, Jeremy followed and pulled her and Tonks away while Dumbledore kept yelling things that started with the letter T ("Toaster! Tomato! Tallahassee! Trombone! Toe! Tamale! Bagel!" She was rather unsure what that last one was doing there, but was unfortunately in no position to question.) And as Jeremy took her away, he was telling her something but McGonagall couldn't quite make it out…

And then she found herself back in her bed, staring at the ceiling and sighing with relief that she hadn't actually been attacked with an owl. As her vision began to focus, the glaring red digits on her bedside clock took a more decipherable shape. 2:17 AM. _What in the world woke me up?_ She thought groggily. She sat up and after a few moments heard music a good distance across the house.

Something told her she had to go see what was going on, so McGonagall stretched and pulled a lightweight knitted blanket around her shoulders and set off shuffling down the hallway.

It was nearly pitch black, the only bit of light coming through the skylight over the foyer. McGonagall could see the half-moon perfectly from where she stood…but she had to look away. Half-moons always reminded her of a certain pair of spectacles…

After leaning over the balcony, she came to the conclusion that the source of the mystery music was not downstairs, but rather behind her. The sound seemed to be muffled by the plain white door. It seemed to be staring back at her, humming a tune that could've been a song of the Weird Sisters. She opened the door, unsure of what she would find, and found herself gazing at a blue-carpeted stairwell.

As she climbed, the music became a lot clearer; the song then ended and changed from rock to something so cheerful that Snape would've probably found it sickening. She later noticed that the lyrics drastically contradicted the mood the melody set; it was about some holiday where people step on weasels. (A/N: Weasel Stomping Day by Weird Al Yankovic. I couldn't resist.)

The stairwell led to a dimly lit room painted the same color of the carpet and adorned with old Muggle movie posters, band tour posters, and other assorted things she didn't recognize. Like what was an Xbox 360, or Halo 3 for that matter? She shrugged to herself and looked about some more, making sure she hung back in the doorway.

There was a wooden chest of drawers directly to her right, and a single framed photo there caught her eye. After she got used to the fact that the people weren't moving like she was accustomed to, she recognized Jeremy and a pretty girl with short blonde hair smiling back at her. They were both dressed in black and white and seemed to be backstage somewhere; she could see the heavy maroon curtains in the background.

"You all right?"

McGonagall turned abruptly to find Jeremy staring at her from a black leather rolling chair by a messy desk. She had been so consumed with her surroundings that she had failed to notice him sitting there. The music had stopped, and the silence seemed unnatural after all the noise. "Yes…sorry dear. The music woke me and I came to see…it's my teacher instinct, since I work at a boarding school."

He grimaced apologetically and stood up, pacing aimlessly around the small circular rug in the center of his room. "Sorry about that. I didn't realize you were such a light sleeper." Frowning, he plopped down on his unmade bed. "Me, I'd love to be able to sleep more than two or three hours a night. I hate having insomnia."

Not knowing what else to do, she took a seat next to him. Communicating with a student was much different than doing so with a relative, she realized, and therefore had to shed her strict disciplinarian exterior. _This could take some getting used to, but it has to be done_. "How do you manage?"

"Well…there's a Starbucks down the street, and it's open twenty-four hours, like a lot of places around here. It's very convenient." He turned to look at her and she starred back, confused. Her expression was so unexpected that he started to laugh. "What, you mean there's no Starbucks where you live?"

McGonagall shook her head, raising an eyebrow.

"And I thought they were _everywhere_!" he chuckled. He stood suddenly and half-ran to his window, peering out of the lopsided blinds. There was something in the distance that seemed to be holding his attention. "You know…why wait 'til tomorrow to show you around? There'll be all sorts of people who'll be prone to gawking during the day." Before she knew it, Jeremy had a sweater in one hand and the other on her shoulder. "I know this sounds _really_ corny, but the night is young! Plus…" He ambled slowly to his window and parted the blinds, revealing a cluster of bright lights that were probably only two or three miles away.

"Jeremy…" McGonagall sighed. "It's nearly two-thirty in the morning!"

"Fine, fine…" he muttered. "So the night's middle-aged, so what? Believe me, you'd much rather do this without crowds of people all around you." He paused, studying her tired but stubborn look. "I'll get you something at Starbucks to wake you up."

McGonagall seemed to be mulling it over. "What…do they sell…exactly?"

"Loads of stuff: frappuchinos, lattés, pastries, cookies—"

"Huh?"

"Coffee," he explained. "It's mainly coffee products." Without waiting for a final answer and noticing his explanation raised more questions than it answered, he grabbed her by the wrist and looked at her with the best puppy-dog face he could muster. "Please?"

She thought about it, then realized arguing was a futile effort. "I'll go."

A smile broke across his face as he dashed down the stairs to get his car keys. It had a mood-changing quality about it; even though she would have rather been sleeping, his grin already made it seem worthwhile. Maybe it was time to try a different teaching approach.

X X X 

Ten minutes later, McGonagall and Jeremy were driving out of the Starbucks parking lot in his navy blue Honda, coffee in hand. She was eyeing it warily, as if it would sprout teeth and bite her face off when she would try to take a sip.

"It won't hurt you," Jeremy assured her, half of his double-shot already gone. The exhausted cashier had informed her that this was one of the strongest things they offered, yet he didn't seemed phased at all.

Not wanting to seem too reluctant, she drank a little, and her facial expression just about screamed with surprise. "Wow…I-I'll just save this for later," she said, cautiously placing the cup in the holder Jeremy had pointed out earlier. "So…where are you taking me again?"

"Ward Circle 24-hour Shopping Center. It's got a Target, Best Buy, Hallmark, Petco, Barnes and Noble, Pier 1, and some other places, like restaurants. A big variety, really."

"That doesn't really answer my question," she muttered. To be fair, she knew it did, but the names of the stores were so foreign to her that it didn't really make much of a difference.

They sat in silence for a while as they coasted up the empty streets of Hartford. The streetlights cast a pale orange glow on the trees lining the road. The shadows were eerie, and they reminded her of the meeting with Dumbledore on Privet Drive that summer… "It didn't seem too far away when you showed me in your room," McGonagall said finally in an attempt to distract herself.

"It really isn't," he insisted. "The roads here just make it a really roundabout trip to get there. It can be kind of frustrating." He paused and glanced over at his aunt. She was staring vacantly outside, her mouth set in a sort of thinking frown. _You'd think she'd be interested in all this technology since she lives in some medieval village…_It was weird…his mom had told him about her half-sister in England, but not much had been shared. He didn't even know her name until a week ago, and then his mom gave him more detail than just where this mystery aunt lived.

His mother, Peggy, and Minerva had the same mother, who had originally been from Scotland and married a man by the name of McGonagall. The marriage didn't last long, however…Peggy had said it was because Mr. Devin McGonagall was "weird," so their mother left her husband and little five-year-old Minerva (who she thought was just as "weird") and moved to the United States. About six years later she remarried and settled into a nice, normal life. Soon, little Peggy was born. Their mother kept up with the McGonagalls, only for Peggy's sake, but otherwise she stayed far away.

His mom had also mentioned Aunt Minerva was a teacher at a boarding school (like she had told him earlier that night) and did some "underground resistance" work (against who, she wouldn't say). He found that rather odd; who would you need to resist in England? It's a stable country as far as he knew, and besides, she lived in some village that didn't even have electricity. _I guess I'll have to figure out her life later,_ he thought as Ward Circle came into view. He pulled into a parking space in front of an unusually packed Barnes and Noble.

McGonagall tugged on his shirt sleeve, pointing to all the commotion. "What's going on over there?"

Jeremy turned and stared. "Oh…I guess I forgot the huge midnight party for the last 'Shirley Codder' book was tonight. Those must be the stragglers." He calmly stepped out of the car and went to open the door for her. "I dunno, I never really got into that series."

They meandered up the sparsely lit parking lot towards the sidewalk, attempting to avoid being caught up in the crowd of people. "What's so great about it?" McGonagall half-shouted over the mass.

He shrugged. "It's a great read, really, I just never get so obsessed that I come out here at midnight to get the next installment. (A/N: I do! Yay!) But anyways…this girl, Shirley Codder, finds out she has all these special abilities and goes off to a special school and has to continually fight off the bad guy who killed her family. 'Cause he tried to kill her, but all she got was a scar on her forehead."

"Like a lightning bolt?" she wondered, trying not to chuckle from the sheer irony of the situation.

"No…it's like in the shape of a tap-dancing rabbit," he said, as if he was still trying to get used to the idea. Her laugher was becoming more difficult to subdue, and it was almost leaking out of her mouth in little bursts as Jeremy side-glanced her with a worried look.

"I know I'll have to borrow it eventually," he continued, probably to try and ignore his aunt's giggling. "'Cause the last book ended with the Concoctions teacher, who everyone thought turned good, killing the principal who was the only real threat to the bad guy, who had returned." He paused and started to make large hand motions as he talked. "Then everybody was like 'oh my god, w-t-f' and really confused." He sighed. "You did have to feel sorry for the Transformations teacher. She had the biggest crush on the principal."

McGonagall, who had tears in her eyes from keeping herself from laughing, quickly shut up after that last bit Jeremy had shared. A lead weight seemed to drop on her stomach, even though she knew he was just explaining a fictional novel. _Just a coincidence…a very big coincidence…_ They walked away from the bookstore in silence for a few minutes.

"You still breathing, Aunt Minerva?"

"Yes, yes…I'm fine."

Jeremy wasn't convinced.

X X X 

Hope you enjoyed chapter 3! Please review! And…one of my favorite scenes is coming up at the beginning of chapter four, so be looking forward to that. Heehee.


	4. Oh So Many Misunderstandings

Yea, so here's a super-fast update for all you wonderful people to make up for that long wait. Disclaimer: None of this is mine except Jeremy. Don't sue me.

X X X 

Back across the Atlantic, the students of Hogwarts were getting ready for class, as were most of the teachers. However, Dumbledore was rushing down to the dungeons, weaving between packs of students and trying not to run over an unsuspecting first year. He was attempting to get there before class was supposed to start, and once he found himself in front of the door to Snape's classroom, he was forced to pause and catch his breath. There was a reason he _watched_ Quidditch and let Madam Hooch do the refereeing.

He reluctantly pushed the squeaky door open after composing himself and stepped inside. Snape had his head down, writing something intently. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of his quill and the occasional rustle of parchment.

Not wanting to attract attention to his presence too early, Dumbledore walked lightly over to the desk, trying not to make much noise on the stone floor. "Hello, Severus!" He said Snape's name in such a way that it was rich with overabundant cheer and friendliness. Snape's eyebrow twitched slightly as he suddenly ceased his writing.

"No, I will not make you any of my cookies that you could send to Professor McGonagall in a lame attempt to win back her heart," he said curtly, barely looking up.

Dumbledore's voice immediately lost its happy demeanor. "Aw, come on!!!" Snape finally looked up, half-way alarmed at his very out-of-character reaction. "There is a plate of cookies right over there!" he said, pointing to the bookshelf.

"Yes," Snape sighed, wondering why the headmaster was losing his composure over baked goods. "But my seventh years made them yesterday and put potion in it. The lesson was called 'What Not to do With the Draught of Living Death.'" They stared at each other for a while, a frown growing on Dumbledore's face. "Even if I _wanted_ to try and help you, it would do no good," he continued. "Mailing cookies in the Muggle post is a bad idea. All you get is crumbs. And in case you didn't know, crumbs don't win a woman's heart."

Dumbledore eyed him suspiciously. "How would _you_ know?"

"If crumbs were romantic, I'd be a married man." He returned to his writing, but the headmaster was still quite frustrated. He plopped down in a seat facing Snape on the other side of the desk with an air of defeat. Chin in hand, his fatigued face leaned very close to the top of the potion teacher's head.

"Do you mind," Snape sighed, looking up. "Moving a bit _further away?_"

But before anyone could do anything else, the door to the dungeon burst open, revealing the small stature of little Tonks. "Oh dear!" she squeaked. "I do seem to like barging in on you, Professor Dumbledore! Sorry, so sorry…" she said, backing out slowly. The door was almost closed when she stuck her head back in. "Dumbledore's a PLAYA!" And then she was gone. (A/N: Yup, she said it. Poor Professor Dumbledore…)

Silence.

"What…the _bloody hell_…did she mean by that?" Snape hissed.

"I think we both know, Severus," Dumbledore muttered grimly.

More silence.

"So!" Dumbledore exclaimed, standing and heading towards the door. "Seeing as it is almost time for classes to begin, I'll be on my way—"

"Good. See you. Bye." As his footsteps faded into the distance, Snape rolled his eyes. Only two days into being back at the school and things were already not going his way. _I can't wait to see what the rest of the year holds in store…_

X X X 

Now away from the throngs of Shirley Codder fans at Barnes and Noble, McGonagall and Jeremy felt infinitely more relaxed, but McGonagall's tension doubled as he came to a halt in front of a huge, blue brick building. She stared nervously at the giant glowing price tag that was bathing them in a pale yellow light. It was very intimidating.

"Time to introduce you to the wonders of technology," said Jeremy with importance. When she didn't budge, he grabbed her wrist. "Come _on_…"

Everything inside was alien to her. The automatic doors freaked her out, but that was nothing compared to the effect of the abundance of large screens flashing all sorts of things and the dull shine of dim lights on the metallic surfaces that seemed to be everywhere. _Who said Muggles couldn't get by without magic? _She barely had time to adjust to her surroundings before Jeremy began to show her around, shoving all sorts of gadgets her way and giving basic explanations.

"See this—" he said, holding up a CD player. "—plays what's in here—" Jeremy picked up a random CD case from the rack nearby. "It had to do with lasers or something like that. I don't know. I was never good with science. But anyway, music comes out of these things called headphones that you put on your ears."

McGonagall was inspecting the cover of the case while he spoke, readjusting her glasses in an attempt to decipher the odd font the band's name was written in. "'My Chemical Romance,'" she read slowly. "Well! It's nice to see that kids are really loving the subject of chemistry these days!" She felt very proud of herself for remembering the Muggle subject, despite Jeremy's look like he was about to bust a gut from trying not to laugh. _What's so funny? I didn't think school subjects were supposed to be naturally funny._

"Woo…" He placed the case back on the shelf and wiped a stray tear from his eye. "You are _something_, Aunt Minerva." He steered her towards another aisle that was displaying different colored rectangles with screens. "These also play music, but are much less of a hassle than the ones over there. They don't need discs and this model can hold like ten thousand songs."

"There's no way," she muttered, picking one up and inspecting it from all angles. "This couldn't even hold my lunch if it tried."

"Um, yes way." He carefully took the iPod from her hand and set it back in its holder. "It's something about a microchip, or…" He shrugged. "I know how to use it, not how it works." They continued in the direction of digital cameras, camcorders, and finally—video games.

"They're these digital interactive games," he told her, looking around for a demo station. "OOO! This one's got Guitar Hero!"

"It's got what?" McGonagall really wasn't feeling too comfortable about playing one of these games, but soon enough Jeremy was shoving a plastic guitar into her hands and hastily explaining what to do.

"God!" he said loudly, giving the screen a good smack. "The dang game's stuck on hard…" A grimace crossed his face. "Don't get discouraged, I meant to put it on easy—"

"This is supposed to be hard?" The song had already started, and she was flying through it with ease. She stole a small glance in his direction; if his jaw was a few inches longer it would've hit the floor.

"Oh…my…god." That was all he could manage.

So after a "quick" clothes trip at Target, the sun was starting to rise. The orange light gave the streets they had traveled a few hours ago a more pleasant look. The change in atmosphere really did a number on their moods…not to mention the caffeine was wearing off. They both seemed a little loopy.

"No…no _really!_" Jeremy half-yelled. "I looked at this cover for the movie and I was like, WHOA! Is that the Concoctions teacher about to make out with Hilary Clinton?" (A/N: I said this late one night after looking at the cover of "Love Actually," which has Alan Rickman (Snape) in it, and he was with some lady that looked like Hilary Clinton. Just thought I'd clear that up.) They both were in stitches on the way back, only Jeremy laughed because he understood what he said, and McGonagall only laughed because she was extremely punchy.

The sun had risen a bit more when they returned home, the now pink light streaming in through the house's many windows. McGonagall officially decided that this bright exuberant interior beat plain ancient gray stone. It was much more welcome.

"Aunt Minerva," Jeremy sighed as he climbed the stairs. "I'm going to try and take a nap—"

"Knock knock?"

It was an unfamiliar voice to McGonagall, but it breathed new life into her nephew. "Kathryn!" He bounded back down the stairs as if he had just had a complete eight hours worth of sleep and embraced the visitor in a large hug. "Come in, come in."

_So _this _must be his fiancée._ Kathryn seemed to be cut straight out from a beauty magazine. She had a flawless Mediterranean complexion with long, wavy chestnut hair that was accented with fluorescent green eyes. She dressed simply, though, clad in a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt that read "Italia."

"Aunt Minerva, this is my fiancée, Kathryn Pine."

The women nodded in greeting. McGonagall was too exhausted to do much else, her punchy spell having worn off suddenly, but Kathryn was obviously very worried and preoccupied about something else. Jeremy was oblivious to it. "So how was your trip to Italy? Your grandfather's doing well, I would imagine. Is that why you stayed and extra two weeks?"

She nodded some more, with something between a frown and a smile playing on her lips. "Listen," she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. "Can I talk to you…alone?"

"Why would we need to be alone? Aunt Minerva's family, like you will be soon. Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of both of us." A joking smile flashed across his face briefly, fading when she didn't grin back.

She looked like she was about to protest, but reluctantly decided against it. "Well…" she started, biting her lip. "I…met someone in Italy…"

McGonagall's intuition was sounding the warning bells. _Not good…_

"And well," Kathryn continued. "My grandparents really like him…and…so do I and…and…" She cupped her hands over her mouth and nose as she fought the tears springing to her eyes. "Oh, Jeremy…I can't marry you anymore! I'm going to Rome to live with Raoul!" There was silence as everyone present took it all in and at the same time was trying to gauge the coming reactions. "I'm sorry," she breathed finally, pecking him on the cheek. With a final glance at the floor, she turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

McGonagall was speechless; she was so full of pity and anger at the same time that it was hard to tell the difference. "Jeremy?"

He stood there, broken. His normally shining blue eyes were dull, and the eyebrows that always stayed high on his forehead with a love of life drooped. A single tear was flowing down the side of his face, pausing near his agape mouth.

"Jeremy?" she repeated, slowly moving over to him with concern. But before she could reach him, he had dashed up all the stairs to his room and slammed the door. A few seconds later, she swore she heard an anguished sob muffled by a pillow.

She raced to a nearby window and saw Kathryn had not yet made it to her taxi. _I don't care much for Statues of Secrecy right now, Mr. Fudge,_ she thought as her bony hand grasped her wand inside the robe pocket. _Levicorpus!_ She said silently and sprinted into the kitchen, collapsing into a chair as frightened screams echoed from the front yard. _Enjoy your just desserts, Kathryn. _

X X X 

Yup. Please review…'cause reviews make me happy, and you get more updates when I'm happy. .


	5. On Ovens and Heartache

Hope you enjoy chapter 5, it's one of the less humorous ones though…more drama (just what everyone needs, right?) So yea. Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or anything else copyrighted I may mention. If I did, I'd be rich. But I don't. Anway…

X X X 

The rest of the day passed silently, the air thick with tension. Not a sound came from Jeremy's room, aside from the occasional squeak of a boxspring. It was driving McGonagall nuts that she couldn't do anything to help him. He had barricaded himself in his bedroom, hiding behind a locked door (which wouldn't normally be a problem, but there would be a lot of uncomfortable questions accompanied by the use of the Alohamora charm). She would cook him some food, but all the buttons and knobs on the Muggle cookware were too confusing to make sense of.

So she continued to stare at the blank television screen, her old bony fingers tracing the frustration wrinkles in her forehead. _OK,_ she thought, jumping to her feet. _It's…_she squinted at the digital clock by the sofa. _Four-thirty in the afternoon. He hasn't eaten anything all day and needs to be comforted. What food would comfort me? _She scanned the living room and adjoining kitchen, stopping at what Jeremy called the fridge.

McGonagall approached the giant white monolith with as much caution as if it was an overgrown Devil's Snare, even though it couldn't have looked friendlier. All sorts of plastic objects dotted the surface, under which hung photos, postcards, and brightly-colored post-it notes. Her eyes were drawn to the most faded snapshot; it showed her sister Peggy in the arms of a tall auburn-haired man, both beaming. It must have been taken at least twenty-five years ago—Cyrus Olsen had been forced to work undercover for so long in Albania that he hadn't even met his own son. Peggy's black curls produced a time-dulled glare that barely outshone the sun on her face. Wonderful, outgoing Peggy, who never dared walk around with her head buried in a book; the complete opposite of awkward little Minerva, five thousand miles and a whole other world away.

McGonagall turned to a more recent photo nearby that was under the watchful gaze of a plastic purple turtle. An aged Peggy was holding the infant version of Jeremy, who was determinedly grasping a cookie between his toothless gums. And there the answer was, staring her in the face; and it had been so simple. Cookies.

Mustering up some courage, she grabbed the fridge's handle and gave it a sharp tug. Cold air wafted into the kitchen, and McGonagall was surprised to see the sparse amount of food; it was bare except for a half-empty jug of milk, an avocado, a package of steaks, and another pack wrapped in a smooth yellow paper…or was it plastic? It was surely nothing she had ever encountered before, so she decided to examine it closer.

"Aha!" Conveniently enough, in her hands she held a container of premade cookies. She ran up to the foot of the stairs to Jeremy's room. "Jeremy," she called. "I know you want some—" She paused to look at the package. "—chocolate chip peanut butter cinnamon cookies with white fudge icing." There was a loud sigh from behind the door. "I'll take that as a yes." McGonagall bounded back down to the kitchen, somehow full of energy as if she had swallowed twenty chocolate-covered expresso beans and then taken a caffeine pill dissolved in a mocha latté. She stood in front of the oven, and suddenly her energy had dissipated.

Frowning, she turned the package over and gazed at the three seemingly simple steps. The last two were easy enough to understand, but…

McGonagall dropped the cookies onto the counter and glared menacingly at the oven. "Where the bloody hell is the preheat button?" she wondered aloud, fairly surprised with herself. Profanity was something she tried to avoid. _I am deputy headmistress at the best magical school in the world and I can't even figure out how to use a Muggle baking contraption._

After about an hour, the act of baking cookies was declared a futile effort. She had resorted to pushing every single button and knob, which resulted in the oven making an odd beeping noise while shuddering a bit. "Damn, I broke it," she muttered, frustration sprinkling all sorts of four letter words into her vocabulary. As she sat on the linoleum floor, fuming at herself, it began to smoke. And before it even had enough time to alert the smoke detectors, McGonagall instinctively whipped out her wand and reduced the failing oven to smithereens. _DAMMIT!_ Her thoughts screamed. _I meant Reparo, not Reducto! _ She stared at the rubble. "Hey Jeremy…the oven broke."

X X X 

Back in England, the clocks were ticking closer and closer to midnight. Days had passed since McGonagall had left so unexpectedly, and rumors had already started among some of the older students. They all were incredibly ridiculous. One said she got stuck in her Animagus cat form, which to them explained Filch's new feline friend. Another claimed she was sick of teaching and opened a doughnut shop in Glasgow. Dumbledore knew they were all wrong and attempted to put a stop to it whenever he could, but it just made it worse. After a severe reprimanding, a particularly unpleasant Slytherin spread that McGonagall's lips had finally gone so thin that her face actually imploded.

There were no worries about this now, since the students were in bed. Dumbledore sat gazing at his Pensieve and a faculty photo taken last June. They all had goofy smiles and were leaning on each other, arms around shoulders…a product of too much firewhiskey in too short a time. He looked at his one-year-younger self, carefree, fingers crawling slowly across McGonagall's back…to pull her closer…but their drunken legs could not hold them steady and they both stumbled, knocking Flitwick, Sprout, and the former Potions teacher to the ground. The scene replayed itself over and over, the little picture people staying unbalanced for eternity and preventing a simple gesture that he couldn't do just days ago, the most powerful wizard in the world felled by his own emotions.

He carried the Pensieve back to the cabinet, eyes still glued to McGonagall's laughing smile that so many students never see. The muscles in his chest contracted painfully as they all stumbled again. _And it had been so close this time…_

"May I come in?"

Dumbledore whirled around so quickly that he almost knocked over one of the silver instruments on his shelf. "Oh, it's just you, Severus," he sighed with relief. "What are you doing up?"

"Working on a potion. It's done now," Snape said, placing a small vial on the corner of the desk. "Something to calm you down, perhaps to help you move on—"

"I don't want to move on, Severus! And you of all people should be able to relate!" Dumbledore glared with a frightening passion, his grip on the edge of the Pensieve shaking.

The harsh lines in Snape's forehead softened slightly as he looked down, embarrassed. "Yes…so sorry…" He snatched up the vial and placed it back in the billowing folds of his cloak. Snape approached the calming but still upset headmaster slowly. "I know you think you ruined this whole situation beyond repair, but you haven't. Try reaching her, write her, send her _something_." He grabbed Dumbledore's shoulder and stared into his vacant-looking face. "Don't make the same mistake I did. At least try to make it better. Don't just leave it alone and hope it fixes itself, because nine times out of ten, it doesn't. And those aren't odds I would bet on."

They stood in that position for a moment, during which Dumbledore sighed many times. "Do you think…she loves me?" he murmured softly.

Snape motioned for them to sit down. "Listen…I only saw her that day before she left for Connecticut, but don't you think it's a good sign that _you_ were the one that got her to come to the feast after everyone else failed? Including Sprout, and we both know how pushy she is."

Dumbledore simply nodded, and showed no sign of saying anything.

"You know," Snape pondered aloud, the rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It is _really_ weird to be giving you love advice, given that this involves two former teachers of mine and that I am really in no position to be giving any love advice at all." He looked hopefully over at the headmaster, searching for a response.

And all of a sudden, Dumbledore let out a small giggle and seemed to come back to life. "Thanks for enduring the awkwardness."

The smile finally appeared on Snape's face, breaking his usual icy demeanor. "Well…I owe you a lot, as much as I hate to admit it." He stood up and made his way towards the door. I'll leave you to your business, headmaster." The door clicked softly behind him, leaving Dumbledore alone yet again.

Scrunching his mouth up to one side in a thoughtful expression, he took up his quill and began to write.

Dear Minerva… X X X 

Woo! Yea, it's sort of a cliffhanger, sorry…but the next chapter has a great scene that almost came straight from my life. And when I was typing "Alohamora," I laughed remembering how one of my band friends repeatedly tried to open locked doors with his instrument, cell phone, etc, while shouting this until the key came. And then taking credit for the opening. So…yea. Please review, reviewers are given virtual cookies!


	6. UhWhoops?

Yo! Hello my fantastic readers! One quick important note: I was randomly looking at the stats for this fic and noticed that there were more hits for chapter 5 than chapter 4. I did a double update and posted both at the same time, so I don't know if some people went straight to chapter five without reading chapter 4. It would be a major problem, since 4 is very important. So, please, if chapter 5 made no sense to you, please go back and read 4! I apologize for any confusion this may have caused. . 

Please enjoy! And remember, I own none of the copyrighted things I mention.

X X X

_This is truly sad. _McGonagall stood at the foot of the stairwell to Jeremy's room, holding a plate of cookie-dough squares with an unopened package of white fudge icing on the side. As she climbed the stairs, she was thankful for the thick carpet muffling her footsteps.

"I have cookies…" she called out, knocking on his door. No response. "Don't make me break into your room."

"That lock can't be picked. Don't try…"

A quick wave of her wand and she was inside the room, which had become quite a bit messier since her last visit. The bed was now occupied, but showed no signs of being slept in. The only obvious difference was a small damp spot on the flattened pillow.

Jeremy simply sat there, struck dumb by McGonagall's ability to enter. He shuffled his already disheveled hair. "How'd you—"

"No questions, dear. Have a cookie." She shoved a dough square in between his reddened eyes.

His eyebrow raised as he took the dough, inspecting it from all sides. "It's not cooked, Aunt Minerva."

"I…broke the oven," she admitted. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she sat beside him. "I always thought the dough tasted better, though." The platter rested between them as they both stared at the floor.

"I…I…was so…stupid…" Jeremy finally muttered. "I thought she loved me…" A tearful shudder shook him, interrupting his train of thought.

"Do you still love her?" McGonagall placed a hand on his knee to try and calm him. What else could she do? The torture he must be feeling…she couldn't relieve any of it. She didn't even know how to relieve herself of it. Her hand felt helpless laying on his shaking knee as he attempted to slow his racing emotions.

"H-how can I? W-w-what she did was…heartless…cruel…she doesn't care—"

"I know," McGonagall interjected. "…that you were too blown away by her words to notice her delivery…but the way she fell apart telling you says she _does_ care, even if she _is_ an insensitive jerk."

There was silence, then a bout of awkward laughter. "Way to put it bluntly, Aunt Minerva." He looked over with a teary smile and decided to taste one of the raw cookies.

"Well, it's true, and it was a blatant understatement, if you ask me. I couldn't think of any nice, descriptive four-letter words that would do the situation any justice."

He frowned in thought, and made a motion like he was counting on his fingers. "You forgot one. But it's five letters…oh well." He grabbed another dough square and put on a dignified façade. "She acted like a bitch." He began to chuckle.

"Yes, I did miss that one," she said, joining him in his laughter. The tensioned lessened, but did not dissipate completely. She was amazed how he seemed to bounce back so quickly from something that could be equated to no less than a slap in the face. When asked about it, he shrugged but still had a clear-cut answer.

"She and I, I don't know…always had this weird unspoken understanding about our relationship. We're so different, and we were bound to have arguments…and we both wanted it to work, so we both tried to start with a clean slate the next day after a disagreement. But if the problem was too big to recover from, then we both would mutually agree that it wasn't going to work. Raoul was our problem. It was such a stretch anyway. I don't even know why I let myself fall for her. She's going to end up running her grandfather's multi-million dollar Italian restaurant chain, and I'm going to be stuck in Mom's house until I'm like forty since I decided to got to trumpet school." He sighed, his eyes drifting to the dresser by the door. "I just kind of learned that the best way to get over heartbreak is to move on quickly…" His voice tapered off as his gaze finally locked with the blonde girl in the photo McGonagall had spotted earlier.

"Marelle Strason," he muttered, answering the question McGonagall had formulated in her mind. "We'd been best friends since preschool…and I'd had a crush on her since preschool. I asked her out right after that picture was taken…our senior end-of-year band concert. She turned me down and I never saw her again, not even at graduation the next day. Maybe it was too uncomfortable for her, or too inconvenient. She went cross-country to engineering school, while I stayed close by and went to Boston Conservatory. I mean…" He wrenched his gaze away from the picture and looked back at his nearly dumbstruck aunt. "I would've talked to her again if she'd tried, but…" Jeremy stopped in the middle of his sentence, unable to continue in his drained state. He leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder.

"You've met a lot of silly girls in your life," she said, giving him a one-armed hug. "They never realized how lucky they were."

She heard him mumble a truly sincere thanks, which turned into a snore. McGonagall carefully readjusted him so his head lay in her lap. Her thoughts strayed as she stroked his hair comfortingly; the heads of Jeremy and Marelle turned into Dumbledore and herself, their stories basically the same, only one's ending was still unwritten.

X X X

"Hey! Aunt Minerva!"

McGonagall jolted awake, completely unaware she had fallen asleep. She was still sitting up, her head resting on the windowsill behind her. Jeremy stood at the edge of the bed, his ever-present grin back on his face. He was gripping an old dirty plastic bucket, and by the way he was holding it there had to be something heavy and alive inside. Whatever it was, it seemed to be struggling.

"I've got crabs for dinner! We're going to boil 'em and eat 'em…it's going to be delicious!" He rearranged his hold so both of his hands were on the handle and he angled it so McGonagall could see in.

About six or seven good sized blue crabs were in the fairly large pail. However, all but one were scrunched up on one side, as far away as possible from the other. She looked at her nephew curiously and pointed to the one crab.

"Oh, the guy at the seafood market called that one 'Feisty Fred.' He's apparently really unfriendly and violent toward the others. As you can see, they're all terrified of him, and the weird thing is, Fred's only got one claw." Jeremy stuck his finger down to point out Fred's deformity. The crab nearly leaped out of the water, claw clicking away, trying to get a hold of him.

McGonagall gaped at him with alarm. "If he's so violent, then why'd you purchase him?"

"I didn't buy him! The market guy was begging people to take it off his hands. Come on, it's nearly seven fifteen and I've already started to boil the water." He started down the stairs and McGonagall followed slowly, still waking up and trying to get used to the fact that she may be one finger short by the time Feisty Fred was dead.

Once she'd made it to the kitchen, it seemed as if Jeremy had already placed most of their dinner into the bubbling pot. He stood over the bucket, tongs in hand, glaring at what she already realized was Feisty Fred. "God!" Jeremy muttered, glancing at McGonagall as she moved closer. "He bent my tongs!" And sure enough, the metal was bent and contorted in all sorts of unnatural ways. It looked like someone had beaten it with a sledgehammer and then dropped it into a cage of hostile Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Oh dear," she muttered.

He simply grimaced. "You can say _that_ again." They both peered cautiously over the edge at Fred, who was scurrying around in circles, running into the sides of the pail and snapping his lone claw ferociously. "Why don't you give it a try, Aunt Minerva?" he suggested, handing over the mutilated tongs.

McGonagall took them reluctantly, getting on her knees to see better. _If I can beat Death Eaters than I can pick up this crab…_ She lowered the now-opened tongs little by little, Feisty Fred watching her every move with his beady little eyes and twitching antennae. The metallic claps closed around his body and she slowly pulled him out of the water, his vicious pinching machine limp by his side. _Luck is on my side today!_ Turning towards the stove, she thought she saw the claw shudder slightly, and she hesitated.

And then it attacked.

In the fraction of a second that McGonagall paused, Fred used his crustaceous back legs to propel himself out of the tongs' hold and onto her face.

Jeremy had never heard a more piercing, bloodcurdling shriek. He watched helplessly, too stunned to try and help his flailing aunt. Fred threw her glasses to the floor before commencing to pinch her nose and scratch her cheeks and forehead. After a grand total of one and a quarter seconds, she had lost it.

"DON'T JUST STAND THERE! GET IT OFF ME, JEREMY!"

There seemed to be little in cramped kitchen that could possibly help them; in the frenzy, Jeremy unknowingly snatched up a flimsy egg whisk and proceeded to pursue the panicked McGonagall around the kitchen and into the living room.

"I-I've got it, Aunt Minerva!" He turned so he was facing her and running backwards, the egg whisk held precariously in front. "H-Hold still—"

"YOU TRY HOLDING STILL WHILE A DEMON CRAB FROM HELL'S TRYING TO CLAW YOUR FACE TO PIECES!"

Fred, still pinching away, turned his beady eyes on Jeremy, who then realized how truly unthreatening an egg whisk must look to this unnaturally intelligent crustacean. The antennae wriggled tauntingly.

"I'm going to try this again, so _please_ try to hold still…" He took careful aim, still attempting not to trip backwards over a table. McGonagall suddenly changed direction, and he found himself headed straight back towards a wall lined with his mother's expensive china. _Now or never…_

With a quick scraping motion, the egg whisk detached the wild Feisty Fred from her nose and onto the ground.

"Oh…oh, Merlin's beard!" McGonagall gasped, collapsing into Jeremy's tired frame.

"Aunt…M-Minerva," he panted as he got her balanced again. "Don't get too comfortable. I didn't kill it."

They both turned to the fluffy green sofa where he had apparently landed, legs flailing while a creepy and slightly ominous clicking and hissing came from his now bubbling mouth.

"Maybe you should just step on it," she whispered in his ear. Fred had succeeded in flipping himself over and getting to the ground again, and began to advance menacingly. "Go on," she whispered again, moving behind him and nudging him once.

Still armed with his egg whisk, Jeremy stepped forward. He and the crab stared at each other before he came to a startling realization. "Aunt Minerva, I don't have shoes on. I don't want to lose a toe. I love my toes." He half-glanced back at her with hope, but saw her exposed feet. _Crap…_

Throwing all caution to the wind, he brought his heel down on the Fred's back. There was a sickening crunch as the shell shattered and all sorts of crab insides were strewn over the clean white carpet. "Ugh…gross," Jeremy retched as he slowly lifted his foot out of the yellowish goo and bits of shell. "At least he's dead, right?" He wiped the remaining guts on a small decorative throw pillow that had fallen to the floor.

"We'll need to clean that up eventually dear—MERLIN'S PANTS, GET BACK!" McGonagall seized him and flung him away from where Feisty Fred laid.

"What the _hell_—" he started, but then he saw: Fred was _not_ dead. He was very much alive (though still crunched), his only claw somehow growing larger by the second. "Holy…oh, god…Aunt Minerva, get back over here!" he cried with desperation.

McGonagall heard his words but they sounded far away, like a distant echo. Her thoughts strayed further from him and the Muggle world as Fred's claw continued to swell. _Some stupid prankster must've jinxed this crab, and we just had to buy it! Looks like an Engorgement Charm or something…very peculiar how it was initiated by what would have been the crab's death…_As she tried to make sense of the predicament, time seemed to slow. Before she could stop to think, her instincts had taken over. Her wand was out, and with a simple flick, Feisty Fred was reduced to dust.

Danger out of the way, time resumed its normal pace. It was silence, save for the still-frightened gasps of Jeremy, who was shrunken against the couch.

"W-What are you?"

X X X

Sorry for the cliffhanger. It just seemed like a good place to end this chapter…and I also apologize for the super-long update. And the fact that this story, half-way through being posted, was made AU. Oh well…I've got some plans…only I'll leave you guessing, mwahahahaha…I mean…what? Don't forget to review!


	7. Slightly Awkward

Woo! Thanks for the reviews! They make me feel so loved. And the crab…yeah, so something really similar happened to my friends and I, and I thought it'd be interesting to insert it. I guess I was right, lol. And don't worry, this WILL continue to be MMAD. Have no fear. I was just skimming through what I had already written and there was this part and I found a way to incorporate something…but I won't give it away. But please don't be all worried.

XXX

It was three AM, and sneaking through the castle at night made Dumbledore feel like a naughty schoolboy even though he wasn't doing anything wrong. He could be up at three; he _was_ the headmaster, after all.

The way to the Owlrey was a long one from his office, filled with all sorts of portraits that had a nasty habit of gossiping about anybody who walked by. Tiptoeing past silently, he eyed each slumbering painting. _The rumors they would spread would make face-implosion look tame,_ he thought as he turned the letter over in his hands. It felt heavy, and when he paused just to stare at it, the parchment seemed to have its own heartbeat. He had poured everything into it and shoved it in a spare Muggle envelope. Of course, the disguise might have been overkill; he didn't know whether McGonagall's family knew she was a witch, but rather safe than sorry, right?

Dumbledore soon reached the large wooden door at the top of the tower and pushed it open. It creaked slightly, causing some of the owls to stir in their sleep.

As long as he'd worked there, Dumbledore could never get over the sheer grossness of the Owlrey, a bird poo covered floor, every other step crunched with old rodent skeletons, and the entire place had a whole odor about it. "Must remind Argus to give this place a good tidying-up," he muttered, side-stepping a particularly repulsive pile of who knew what.

At last, he came upon what he'd been searching for: his large black and gray speckled owl that happened to be the only one at Hogwarts capable of making the trans-Atlantic flight. Dumbledore brought out some twine to tie the letter to its leg. "Geez, hold still, Minny—"

"No doubt short for Minerva, eh Headmaster?"

Dumbledore whirled around and found Filch staring at him from a couple yards away, wearing his creepy signature grin. He stared back warily for a moment and, seeing as Filch just continued to not say anything more, he turned back to his protesting owl.

"It's funny how fast these things spread, huh?" Filch said, moving a few steps closer.

"Argus, what are you doing here?" Dumbledore sighed impatiently as he took Minny to the window.

Filch looked at him like he couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I-I'm…cleaning the Owlrey!"

"Uh-huh…" Dumbledore gazed down at the unknown pile he'd stepped over earlier and back at Filch with a raised eyebrow, intent on changing the subject. "Did you do something new with your hair?"

The caretaker grinned. "Yeah, I washed it!" He brought a less-greasy but still straggly strand to his nose. "Mmm…passionfruit."

Dumbledore nodded, finding a relatively clean spot on the wall to lean against and ripping open yet another Snickers bar. He chewed carefully, trying to ignore the shampoo-induced giggles.

"Bloody hell, Headmaster!" Filch eventually shouted once he saw Dumbledore diving into his second Snickers. "You're going to get yourself fat eating all those! How many have you had today, fifty?"

"No," he retorted defensively. "It was only thirty-eight! I swear!" Filch rolled his eyes, turning towards the door. "Y'know, I thought only women were stress-eaters."

"That's not very kind, Argus. I-I'll have you know that this candy is…peanuts…with chocolate-covered mountain tops and…waterfalls of caramel…and…and…prancing nougat in the meadows—"

"—sings a song of satisfaction to the world," Filch finished with obvious boredom. "Yeah, I've seen the Muggle advertisement too." (A/N: Couldn't resist.)

Silence.

"You mean…" Dumbledore said slowly. "…that I didn't just come up with that myself?"

"You pretty much quoted the commercial word for word." Filch gave a small nod and walked off, smelling his hair again.

Finishing his candy, Dumbledore conjured up a simple wooden chair so he wouldn't have to sit in the filth Filch claimed to have been cleaning. _Minny's probably just off the coast now,_ he thought wistfully, and half-wishing that he'd sent Fawkes instead. The letter would have already been there…but the phoenix's alarming appearance (at least to a Muggle) would not be ideal. Minny would be there by the next morning at the latest, thanks to a charm by Professor Flitwick.

As the dark sky began to be overtaken by violent hues of orange and pink, he realized he still hadn't moved from his chair. The same thought was plaguing him, repeating itself in his head: even if Minny did make it, his pessimistic mind was saying, would Minerva be too upset to read what he had written?

XXX

McGonagall awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache from lack of sleep. After the previous day's mishap with Feisty Fred, it would've been too much to mention to Jeremy that eating shellfish made her terribly ill. She spent most of the night beside the toilet. _Oh what I would give to have Poppy be able to fix me up…_

And on top of her headache and nausea, Jeremy was scared of her. Not that she could blame him, of course, but the fearful looks he'd given her over dinner stuck in her mind and filled her with guilt. _Why didn't I tell him first off?_

"Can I come in?"

She looked up and saw Jeremy standing in the doorway, clad in plaid flannel pants and a faded T-shirt that read "Boston Conservatory." He looked around nervously, always careful to avert his gaze.

"Please do, Jeremy."

"Listen," he continued with a bit more assertiveness. "I want to trust you. I really do. But yesterday…you…whipping out this 'magic wand' and blowing up a crab…it's…just…not normal, at least to me, all right? I just need some answers."

She sighed and patted a spot on the bed beside her. "Sit down, dear. I nearly kicked myself for not mentioning it earlier." Sighing again, she tried to put the whole concept of the magical community into a very simple nutshell. Jeremy listened silently, eyebrows drawn, and obviously believing every word. After a while, he began to beleaguer her with all sorts of questions; he responded with childlike wonder now, instead of fear, now that he actually knew what was going on.

"So what do you do at the school again?"

"I teach Transfiguration and I'm also the deputy headmistress."

"Wow…" He laid back on the headboard of the bed and stared at the ceiling. "So…Mom said you did underground resistance work too. I was really confused when she told me, 'cause I was thinking that you really didn't have to fight anybody in England. So it was against that You-Know-Who guy?"

McGonagall nodded. "The group's disbanded now, since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is…"--She did little hand-quotation marks—"…'dead.'"

"Isn't he?"

"Not in the normal sense at least. It's very confusing and I don't even understand it completely yet. Al—the, uh…headmaster…of the school has tried to explain it many times."

Jeremy grinned, now back to his normal not freaked out self. "Wait a second…you said the headmaster was an…Albus Dumbledore, right?" Without waiting for a response, he leaped up and half-sprinted to the door. Upon his return, a slightly battered envelope was handed to her. "You have a letter from him. Don't look so surprised," he added.

McGonagall took it, her hands a bit shaky. There was no mistaking it was for her; it was addressed in Dumbledore's super-specific form. _Minerva McGonagall, 4810 Adams Lane, the Maroon Spare Bedroom, Hartford, Connecticut, United States._ (A/N: If for some reason that is an actual address, I apologize. I just made it up.) She picked at the corner absently and handed it back, looking away. "I don't want it," she murmured.

Jeremy stared at the letter, not taking it. "But—"

"I said I don't want it," she repeated in her sharp teacher-tone.

"Fine," he mumbled, snatching it back and placing it in the pocket of his pajamas. "I made some breakfast, if you want some. It'll probably be cold though. I hope you don't mind."

Jeremy reluctantly went back down to the kitchen. McGonagall's response to a simple letter had been almost alarming. His hand rested on the pocket where the envelope was. _What was the big deal about this Dumbledore guy anyway?_ He sat down at the counter where he had laid out the now-cold plate of toast and bacon. _I know it's wrong, but…_ The letter was almost screaming for him to open it, read it…

"If it'll help me understand Aunt Minerva better," he breathed. So he ripped open the envelope and began to read.

XXX

_Dear Minerva, _

_I've been a fool. I cannot begin to try and imagine how I could have acted that way, towards you of all people. I was not myself. Please find it in your heart to forgive me; my own will not forgive myself for my actions. It would torture me if I stupidly ruined what we almost had…it seems to have become a common pattern in my life. But I do not protest against this torment. It is a fitting punishment for hurting you. You are and have been my best source of comfort in these past uncertain times, but also my greatest worry. What would I have done if you did not return from a battle? (I thank Merlin every day that this question was never answered.) But enough about me._

_I love you. I should have told you everyday from the moment I knew all those years ago. Everything about you, from your eyes to your talent to your beautiful smile makes me feel so alive that the effects of the most powerful love potion could never compare. I see in you the warmth of a thousand suns, the beauty of a million roses. Seeing your tears that day, it was like someone had extinguished the sun and every star in the universe for good; a hurricane took residence in my heart to painfully remind me every second of my existence of what I have done. _

_This letter does you no justice…my love is too intense for words. Every moment without you near is a moment wasted._

_With all my heart,_

_Albus_

XXX 

Jeremy reread the letter in a futile attempt to understand the emotions that seemed to physically emanate from the thick parchment. More time afterwards was devoted to wondering what event had prompted its writing. _It obviously upset Aunt Minerva badly, or else she would have gladly read it._ He wanted so desperately to run back up her room and shove it under her nose so she could see for herself what he had just read and understood. What was going through her mind as she sat upstairs, alone? Was she still happy to be as far away from Dumbledore as possible, or was she fantasizing about being in his arms? These unanswered questions were all too familiar for him; Marelle (and now Kathryn) often crossed his mind accompanied by those same thoughts. In the past few hours, he had been thinking how completely different he and McGonagall were. Sure, maybe on the surface; she, the magical school teacher whose terrifying circumstances the past few years made her skeptical and hesitant to relax and open up to people, and he, the trumpet performance major whose ebullient nature and infallible trust in people could be a bit overwhelming. But their hearts, he realized in that moment, were the same: both bruised and wanting to return to the ones they loved and at the same time reluctant to do so, not sure if they could take being hurt again.

"But how can you be so sure that Aunt Minerva loves this man?" taunted a small voice in Jeremy's head. He quickly shut the pestering bugger up; everything suddenly made sense. _Her vacant stare on the way to Ward Circle…the way she stumbled over Dumbledore's name…her reaction to the letter. She loves him. There's nothing else these things could mean. _

Placing the letter back in the envelope, Jeremy knew what he had to do. _The hard part is…how a, I going to do it?_ His thoughts strayed as he stared out the window and met the gaze of a large black and gray owl who was staring back.

XXX

Jeremy's words still hung in the air in McGonagall's bedroom. _You said the headmaster was an…Albus Dumbledore, right? You have a letter from him._ They seemed to echo and swim around her head in an odd attempt to drown her in her own confusing thoughts.

Should I have read it? Was it an apology, or was he trying to tell me off again for leaving?

She took a deep breath and recalled the moment just before Tonks interrupted them. Did it really happen? Everything transpired so quickly…she could not be sure if her memory was a reliable source. Yet his story, the one part that had glued itself word for word to her memory…that story…so implicit and so obvious at the same time.

_Maybe I should ask Jeremy to read it before me, you know…to see if it's bad or not…_She thought about it, then shook her head. "No," she muttered, standing and heading to her closet. "He has enough on his mind already…"

She twisted the loose handle on the closet door, unsure why she was standing there. All her clothes were in the dresser. Curiosity got the best of her; she opened the door and suddenly a waterfall of haphazardly stored junk cascaded down upon her. _OK…not my best idea._ She struggled to remove herself from the pile of old clothes, movies, and toys when a slightly crumpled piece of paper fell out of the closet and landing in her lap. Without even unfolding it, she could see what was written. "Marelle Strason," she read. And beneath the name was a phone number.

XXX

_I never remember teaching being this hard_, Dumbledore thought during his Transfiguration class of second-years. He had never seen children act this wild; little Charlie Weasley had to be sent to the Hospital Wing after he was hit by a couple of wayward, badly-cast spells. Merlin knows whether Poppy would be able to make him stop singing the Czechoslovakian national anthem by lunch! Finally the bell rung and all the small screaming twelve-year-olds sprinted out of the room. _Now is when I wish I had a planning period. How am I supposed to teach N.E.W.T level spells after dealing with such mayhem?_

Soon, the seats began filling with his sixth-year advanced students. Things started off calm, but as soon as Dumbledore stood behind his lectern to begin, all hell broke loose. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were firing all sorts of curses and jinxes at each other. One Gryffindor was yelling particularly loud.

"MY MOTHER'S _NOT_ A HAMSTER AND MY FATHER DOES _NOT_ SMELL LIKE ELDERBERRIES!!!"

_Greaaaat…_ He had heard that Professor Burbage was showing "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" in Muggle Studies this week (which was a film he rather enjoyed; thank goodness he'd seen it at a Ministry-sponsored Muggle pop-culture fest this past summer!).A student's quoting of it obviously went awry. "Oh, settle down!!!" Dumbledore shouted over the ruckus. "Someone's just quoting something that was shown in Muggle Studies!" Some settled down (the few that had actually heard him), but the rest just got worse, their aim included. _I have to think of something so Minerva doesn't come back to a destroyed classroom…if she ever comes back…_ He sighed, looking around the room and pausing at the two combatants left. The rest of the class was gathered tightly around them in a throng of screaming teenagers. It was almost causing sensory overload. _Dear Merlin,_ Dumbledore thought as an idea struck him. _I am going to hate myself for saying this later, but at least it will most likely shut them up…_He took a deep breath and shouted "I LIKE BIG BUTTS!"

Instant silence. Even the spells had stopped in mid-air it seemed.

They all turned to stare at the thoroughly embarrassed headmaster who could almost feel the awkward tension he just created.

"You like _what_, professor?"

"No I don't…no I don't," Dumbledore proceeded with caution. He held his hands up in front of him in a sort of "please don't look at me like that" gesture. "It's this old Muggle song. You see, I thought that if I yelled something odd that you all would stop trying to kill each other, look at me with confusion, and maybe then be able to start class." Hands clasped, his eyes swept around the room as the students grudgingly settled into their seats. "There," he smiled. "Isn't this less dangerous?"

"Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Kingsley?"

Kingsley looked as if he was about to burst into laughter. One of his friends seated beside him seemed like he couldn't believe what Kingsley was about to say.

"Sir," he started. "Professor McGonagall doesn't have a big butt."

All heads swiveled to stare at Kingsley, then over to Dumbledore, whose face was quickly losing its rosy hue. _Great. Now it's spread to the students too. I'll maybe have to schedule a staff meeting about this rampant gossiping. _But for the time being, this humiliating situation had to be nipped in the bud. "Well Mr. Shacklebolt, it's interesting how you know this. Have you been looking?"

Kingsley's dark face immediately flushed as sniggers broke out from all sides of the classroom. "No I haven't sir," he retorted. "Have you?"

"O-of course not. What a silly question!" Dumbledore felt his face redden as the students' faces conveyed that they weren't convinced. He hadn't been lying; that sort of staring was pervish, and his love had gone far beyond that point regardless. There was no way he'd tell them that, however; the last thing he needed to do was confirm the rumors they'd been hearing. "Now," he continued. "On with today's lesson—"

"Professor Dumbledore? Where'd Professor McGonagall go?"

He looked towards the back of the room to see who had spoken. It was a very tiny girl for her age whose voice barely rose above a murmur. Her name escaped him. "She went away for family reasons and will hopefully return after Christmas."

"Do you miss her?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise at the bluntness of the question. It seemed very out-of-character for such a soft-spoken girl.

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "You don't have to answer, but most of the teachers have been muttering about it constantly." She slumped back down in her chair and resumed her role as an invisible wallflower.

As he brought out the textbook and began the lesson, he contemplated the mystery girl's words. She'd been dead on the money: he missed McGonagall so badly it hurt. _The question is…does she feel the same?_

XXX

YAY! Long chapter for you guys today! Even though I should be working on some essay about American domestic politics in the 1790s! This is more fun! Woohoo! (please review!)


	8. Insert All Encompassing Title Here

Wow! Thank you for the reviews, you wonderful readers! It made my day, it really did. Sorry for the really long update…there'll be an explanation at the end, but I know you want to go ahead and read the chapter, so I won't keep you any longer.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. But I wish it was.

XXX

Seeing as their breakfast had gotten cold and all methods of re-heating it had accidentally been annihilated by McGonagall (Jeremy had always been ashamed to say that they had never owned a microwave), they decided to go out to eat. Luckily, there just happened to be a nice, out of the way Biscuitville around the corner that could be easily walked to in less than five minutes. Jeremy hoped that the scenic cedar and pine-lined sidewalk would distract his aunt from what was clearly troubling her.

"You see!" he exclaimed, spinning around in a circle, arms reaching to the sky. "This northern air and atmosphere can do wonders on your mood!" He turned so he was walking backwards on the sidewalk and facing the preoccupied face of McGonagall.

Despite the fact that it was early September and technically still summertime, the temperature was unusually frigid ("Global warming, my eye," Jeremy had muttered). McGonagall had put one of her warmer cloaks over her new Muggle attire, which she still had a hard time getting used to; after all, it was the first time in her life that her wardrobe included something that was _not_ a dress of some sort. _If Albus could see me now…_

"Earth to Aunt Minerva…"

"Oh, sorry dear," she said as she looked up, drawing her cloak around her tighter. "I didn't mean for my mind to wander."

"Are you all right…or do you need to talk about something?"

She hated the way he was starring her down…it felt like he knew _exactly_ what was up, and the whole situation was becoming rather uncomfortable. Her personal issues were her business and she did not want to divulge a single detail; they were just too embarrassing. Hearing about the love life of people her age would certainly make for an awkward conversation. And poor Jeremy had his own problems in that area, even though he hid it quite well. He struck her as the person who would worry a lot more about her dilemma than necessary.

"No, Jeremy. Everything's fine, no need to worry."

"Well, even if you _were_ upset about something…" _There he goes, using that "I know something" tone…_she thought. "…the biscuits at this place wouldn't keep you that way for long. They're delicious!"

After a very long five minutes, they arrived at the brown and faded yellow establishment that was his neighborhood Biscuitville. Only a few cars sat in the parking lot and all probably belonged to the employees. It was no wonder, he explained, because the crowds always came much earlier, and it was already close to ten-thirty.

McGonagall was about to enter when she realized he was no longer walking beside her. "Jeremy?" She turned and saw him jogging up to the door.

"Sorry," he sighed. "I thought I recognized one of the cars back there…must have imagined it, I guess."

As soon as they walked in, McGonagall took note of one of the biggest differences between these Muggle restaurants and the ones she was used to, like the Hog's Head: everything seemed so much newer to say the least. And in her mind, it added itself to the growing list of things to attempt to get used to.

Jeremy had been right about how empty it was; even the cashier had left to go back to the kitchen.

"Why don't you get us a table, Aunt Minerva?" Jeremy motioned, his back to the cash registers.

McGonagall was about to comply when she saw the cashier returning. "No, no, let me," she said hurriedly, forcefully guiding her nephew behind a very tall island counter that housed the fountain drink dispensers. "We can sit here, if that's all right." She pointed at the table nearest them that was still concealed by the island. "Besides, this is a skill I need to learn, dear." Her voice had become high-pitched and unnecessarily fast again, which always seemed to happen when she was trying to hide something. "What would you like?"

Jeremy reluctantly handed over some money. "Don't you think I should come with—"

"What would you like?"

"Fine, fine! A number seven, OK?" He may have sounded frustrated but an amused grin flashed across his face. (A/N: For the record, I have no idea what a number seven is.)

She rounded the island and approached cautiously, examining the unaware cashier closely. Upon glancing behind her, she cursed under her breath: Jeremy was still in earshot. _Thank goodness I put my wand in my back pocket. Muffliato,_ she thought, making sure her wand did not reveal itself.

"Hello, Marelle."

The cashier immediately looked up with confusion. "Oh my god," she muttered, but with more volume than a normal mutter. "You're that same Scottish lady I talked to on the phone earlier this morning!"

McGonagall nodded, not believing her luck. Marelle looked exactly like she did in the picture in Jeremy's bedroom. Her short blonde hair was pulled back into miniature pigtails and her eyes were a violent shade of orange-hued mahogany. "So…you _are_ coming to my nephew's place for dinner tonight, right?"

"Couldn't you tell me who he is?" She grinned hopefully.

"No, sorry…you'll find out at six." McGonagall didn't want to draw the conversation out and keep the ever-curious Jeremy waiting. She ordered quickly and had Marelle put the food in a to-go bag (which McGonagall thought was very convenient).

The entire walk home, McGonagall couldn't help but smile. Her secret plan was working.

XXX

Dumbledore knew he'd be glad to be out of the classroom second semester. He sat in his chintz armchair, nursing his many bruises he had accumulated throughout the past week. It was getting late, he noticed, noting the stumpy candle that was starting to leak wax onto his desk. He didn't even bother to look at the clock. _Minny should have been back by now…_

The soft click of shoes on stone drew his attention away from his large picture window. Soon, the door swung open slowly and the visitor strode in without a word. Dumbledore was not surprised to see who it was. "Up late again, Severus? What's kept you from sleeping?"

"Oh, the usual…" Snape took a seat across from the headmaster. "I might ask you the same."

"And I'd answer the same as you," Dumbledore replied with a small courteous smile. They sat in an understood silence for a long while, enjoying their company without the hassle of actual conversation. The silence was breached after a particularly loud snore from Fawkes.

"You know, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I'm very glad you come up to visit…I guess we do have some common ground—"

"It's not as common as you might think!" Snape interrupted bitterly, his voice laced with pain. "At least McGonagall isn't dead! And—and if she was, you wouldn't _personally _be responsible for it!" He paused to take a deep, shaky breath. "Do you know what it's like to live with that guilt hanging over your head? The thought terrorizes me every time I attempt to sleep…I wake up, my face wet from not sweat, but _tears_! Do you have even the slightest idea what that's like?" He stared at Dumbledore, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room.

"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, nodding. "I have a slight idea." The response struck Snape dumb.

(We interrupt this dramatic development to bring you Dumbledore's parody-like memory.)

Dumbledore let his mind wander to earlier that afternoon, just after classes ended. Through the long and twisted grapevine, he had caught wind of a rumor that he, Albus Dumbledore, had been in love with none other than Gellert Grindelwald! What a load of rubbish, he thought. And after a bit of research, he found the root of the silly story and was determined to prevent its disclosure at a press conference that was scheduled for later that evening. So off to Edinburgh he went!

Needless to say, when he showed up at the well-known Scottish author's doorstep, he had to endure many a confused sputtering ("But I thought I made you up! You're not real! I'm seeing things, etc, etc"). But after a quick little chat and a bit of threatening-though-not-harmful wand motions, the wonderful woman too agreed that the whole nonsense was indeed a load of rubbish. Not that he didn't care for Gellert as a friend, and not that it didn't hurt him to have to send the Dark wizard to Nuremgard, but that was just getting carried away!

And so his reputation was saved.

(We now conclude this parody-like memory that now technically makes this story a bit less AU than before. Maybe.)

The silence ensued, Dumbledore lost in thought and even chuckling a bit (to Snape's great confusion). If Snape listened close enough, he could have heard the old headmaster replaying the scene relayed above. But he was lost in his grief that was still so fresh, seeing as it had only occurred months earlier; at times like this, he seriously doubted whether he'd ever get over it enough to be as sane as he was before. A quiet tapping at the door forced him back from the maze of his emotions. "Sir, your owl's at the window."

"Oh goody!" Dumbledore leapt to the window and flung it open with one hand while forcefully pulling the poor bird inside with the other.

_What happened to the sullen atmosphere?_ He wondered, eyeing the headmaster as he prepared to rip open the envelope. "I'm going back to bed, Professor." Snape wanted to be out of the office quickly. One brief glance at the address had told him it wasn't from McGonagall; after all, she knew how to spell "Dumbledore."

XXX

McGonagall couldn't have possibly felt more pleased with herself. As she washed the dishes from the night's spaghetti dinner, Jeremy and Marelle's laughter from the living room echoed all over the house as he recounted the story of Feisty Fred.

"And that's where I stepped on it."

"Ew…you mean its insides are yellow?!"

"Yeah! And then Feisty Fred decided to be an undead zombie crab—"

"Oh my god! How'd you kill it?"

"Aunt Minerva blew it up."

They began to laugh again, and McGonagall chuckled to herself. The plan she'd concocted went perfectly. There were some things that she was secretly going to stash in the first Pensieve she could get her hands on, like their looks when they saw each other. Suddenly Dumbledore's phrase "Muggle magic" made a lot more sense.

They'd spent all of dinner (and still were) catching up with each other and filling in the gaps of what had happened over the past seven years of absence. A more considerable amount of time was devoted to remembering the craziest tales from high school.

"And, like, all of a sudden, little Mrs. Heylan went nuts!" Marelle had exclaimed while imitating her teacher. "She picked up an armful of these dried sea sponges and started chucking them at us!"

"Yeah, it was like 'Perifora! Perifora! Have a perifora!'" Jeremy had turned to McGonagall, who had looked rather confused. "It's the scientific name for sponges, which I _only_ remember 'cause one hit me in the face!"

"At least I had enough sense to duck," Marelle had teased as she pointed her forkful of noodles at his face.

McGonagall smiled again as she recalled the story and the plethora of others that had been shared over dinner (such as the incident where the assistant band director had tackled the other saying something like "Oh the feet!"…it was astounding to her how many certifiably insane Muggle teachers were at their school. Professor Trelawney seemed normal compared to those standards.) Her thoughts were interrupted by another resounding bit of laughter from the living room. _And I swear, if I have to hear "one time, at band camp" one more time…_

She was taking her sweet time washing the dishes so she had an excuse to stay nearby. Conveniently, there was a rectangular window to the living room just to the right of the sink. The angle was perfect: if she glanced out of it from where she stood, she could view the two of them facing each other on the sofa.

After a few hours, the laughter died down and their voices became less noisy and more serious as they ran out of stories. "Um…" Marelle started. "I'm really sorry about what happened with you and Kathryn."

"How'd you find out about that?" Jeremy stared at her, confused how she knew that when they hadn't talked since high school.

"Well…" she began. "My mom's old roommate's daughter's best friend's cousin knows her and I found out indirectly that she had dumped her fiancé and ran off with some Italian guy. Mom thought the description of the 'dumped fiancé' sounded a lot like you, so she asked some questions and found out it really _was _you. Then she told me. I really am sorry," she sighed.

"Thanks…but I have one question," Jeremy said, holding up his index finger. "Why didn't you ever contact me after that band concert?"

There was an awkward pause as Marelle shifted uncomfortably, obviously figuring out the best way to answer. "This is going to sound so far-fetched…I know you're not going to believe me…" She sighed and stared him straight in the eye. "The only reason I didn't go out with you was because I was leaving the next morning for Uzbekistan! I had a change of heart about going to Stanford and enlisted in the Peace Corps! There was no electricity and I lost your address in transit…when you asked me…I would've answered differently if I wasn't going to be away until just a few weeks ago!" She was still staring at him intently even though his gaze was absently directed at the yellow stain on the carpet. "But who am I kidding? You probably got over me a long time ago…"

McGonagall had stopped really paying attention to the dishes and was half-heartedly rubbing the sponge across the same spot over and over. _It was all just a huge misunderstanding…_ She focused on Jeremy's face; he'd heard every word and seemed to be wrestling with his feelings.

"No, Marelle…I don't think I ever really did."

Their gaze finally met and its intensity could be felt all the way in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be…"

They did nothing for a moment; it was so quiet that the sound of dust landing on the coffee table would have been thunderous. Marelle readjusted her seating slightly, shifted almost imperceptibly closer to Jeremy, and then without warning, she threw her arms around him, locking her lips onto his. His eyes widened in surprise, and before he could return it, McGonagall looked away.

_I think they're quite too busy to notice if I do some quick tidying…_she laughed to herself. A wave of the wand later and all the pans were clean. _That went even better than I possibly could have imagined. _Tiptoeing, she made her way to the small office-slash-library around the corner and settled into a soft armchair. On the table beside her sat an old battered book. "_Shirley Codder and the Magical Rock,_" she muttered. "This should be entertaining." A smile crept across her face as she turned to chapter one, "The Girl Who Survived."

XXX

Sleep must have overcome her, because she went from Shirley accidentally loosing a giant tarantula into a pet store to being shaken vigorously. It was a struggle to open her eyes; they seemed glued shut. When she finally was able to see, an elated Jeremy greeted her.

"Oh my god, Aunt Minerva, I love you, I love you!" He pulled her from the armchair and into a strong embrace.

McGonagall took a moment to try and figure out what time it was. It was dark out, but there was still some traffic on the roads, so it couldn't have been too terribly late. "Dear Merlin…I fell asleep! What time is it?"

"Just after 11:30…Marelle left a few minutes ago…" (A/N: That's right, Jeremy's a good boy.) He looked her straight in the eye. "Thank you infinity times over for making the most amazing moment of my life happen."

She was at a loss for words. How long had he been waiting for this, knowing it might never come? How did it feel, she wondered, after all these years to finally hold the woman of his dreams and be able to express all his long-suppressed emotions? And then another question popped into her head.

_Does Albus feel this way too?_

Something else was eating at her too, and considering what she'd already done, it seemed like the next logical step. "So Jeremy…when are you going to pop the question?"

"What question?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Don't play dumb. _The_ question." Her eyebrows raised as she stared at his thinking expression. After a good long thirty seconds he nearly jumped with surprise.

"_What?!_ No, oh my god…we've been in a relationship for less than two hours and you're already thinking marriage?!"

"Well…" she started, twirling her wand around in her hand. "You said you've loved her since preschool. You're what…twenty-five now? If you went to preschool at say, three, then that calculates out to twenty-two years. You've loved Marelle for _twenty-two_ years, Jeremy. Did she mention how long she's felt the same?"

"Uh…um…middle school, I think she said—"

"That's still a considerable amount of time! You said you've been best friends since before you can remember. You probably know her just as well as her own family. There's no time to waste! Besides," she sighed with a tap on his shoulder. "I came in to fill in for your mother at your wedding after Christmas. I really couldn't wait. It was going to be so exciting."

He was beginning to see her point. What more _could_ they learn through a long-term relationship? _Not much…_ They knew each other's quirks, habits, and preferences verbatim. Finishing each other's sentence was so common they no longer thought about it, and sometimes they bickered incessantly. _Like an old married couple…_ And then there was his mother to consider…Peggy Olsen, though hospitalized, would freak if she discovered all the money she spent on the wedding had gone to waste. He relayed all this to his aunt.

"Perfect, then are you decided?"

"I guess so," he muttered incredulously. In less than twenty-four hours he'd gone from getting over being dumped to preparing his proposal to Marelle. _This is happening so fast!_ "Better sooner than later, I suppose…well…I invited her to go ice-skating tomorrow with us. I guess I could do it then…" By then, he was just murmuring to himself. "Damn!" he exclaimed suddenly. "I don't have a ring! What am I supposed to get, like…an onion ring? A doughnut? Yeah, _that's_ really romantic—"

McGonagall was glad she already had her wand out. "Tell me what you want, and I'll get it."

It took a moment to sink in. "Oh yeah…you're a _witch_!" He chuckled. "That's still _so_ cool!" In no time he had the small box tucked away safely in his faded navy-blue hoodie. "Thanks so much…I don't know what I'd do without you." He hugged her tightly and slipped back out to the foyer. His jubilant footsteps echoed all the way up to his room.

"He's always so excited," she said to herself as she picked up the Shirley Codder book and headed toward the stairwell. _Tomorrow's going to be the moment of truth…_

XXX

It was nearly time for breakfast in the Great Hall. Drowsy students crowded the tables, intently staring at the empty trays in front of them. Food should already be there, they all thought. Facing a school day was hard enough even without an empty stomach. Unfortunately, food would not arrive until the headmaster did himself.

And he was late.

Nobody seemed to know where he was; usually McGonagall knew, but seeing as she hadn't been there for a while, the rest of the staff was turning to the other Heads. Flitwick was clueless, as was Snape (surprisingly). Sprout refused to even mention or talk about the man who she _knew_ hurt her best friend. She'd had a good view of the grounds when McGonagall departed, could see by the way she had carried herself that she was troubled.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the large doors of the Great Hall being flung open. The chatter immediately ceased and all heads turned to see what the deal was.

There stood Albus Dumbledore, clad in a purple and neon green polyester workout jumpsuit, new white tennis shoes (that one young Muggle-born identified: "Hey! How's he got KSwiss?") and carrying what resembled a boom box. Only it seemed to have many magical modifications; there were no dials or anything, just two large speakers. He didn't say anything to the faces that were gazing at him with growing interest. He instead simply tapped his wand on the machine, and the Hall was filled with the music he had decided to share.

"BECAUSE WE CAN CAN CAN! YES WE CAN CAN CAN CAN CAN CAN CAN CAN CAN!" ("Because We Can" by Fatboy Slim. If you've never heard it, go listen to it.)

And without warning, Dumbledore ran up the center aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables and began to dance like he was possessed by an insane drunken monkey. Some students laughed. Others were too far gone to even giggle, much less notice the breakfast buffet that had just appeared upon Dumbledore's arrival.

To those whose eyes weren't glued on the headmaster (and there were very few), they might have glimpsed Professor Binns gliding up to the doorway and stopping abruptly at the sight of the dancing Dumbledore. Even fewer would have heard him mutter, "I picked the wrong day to come to breakfast." Needless to say, he left rather quickly and no one bothered to mention his presence.

"Oh dear Merlin…"

Sprout wrenched her gaze from the headmaster. "What is it Charity?"

Professor Burbage lifted her head meekly and gave a weak smile. "Albus raided my store of out-of-style Muggle clothing, and changed by display stereo so it would work here…and…agh…" She sighed. "I was the one who let him listen to this song. I should have known better."

"EVERYBODY CAN CAN!"

"Don't worry yourself about it. It's put everyone in a much lighter mood. I swear I heard Severus chuckle—"

"I did no such thing!"

Burbage and Sprout grinned slyly in Snape's direction. "Oh really now? Then what _did_ we hear?"

"I was…you see…my oatmeal had become…lodged…in…my nose…" His voice trailed off towards the end of his explanation and looked down at his plate, unsure why he had said "oatmeal," which he didn't have. But it would have been harder to convince them that an entire biscuit could have fit…maybe they would think that the oatmeal had gotten permanently stuck, yeah, that was it…

"Anyways," Burbage muttered, intentionally changing the subject. "Why's Albus so excited?"

"He did get a letter last night," Snape said as he broke his biscuit in half.

"From Minerva?" wondered Sprout hopefully.

"Oh no! I saw the address…they spelled 'Dumbledore' 'Dumbaldoore.' Professor McGonagall would know how to spell that."

"You're telling me…"

They turned their attention back to the headmaster, whose dancing had become more sober-looking now that some of the older outgoing students had joined in. The rest were mostly clapping along to the beat. Flitwick had also started what looked like a party-boy dance on his chair (much to Sprout's embarrassment).

Snape tried to look away, as hard as it was. It was _slightly_ amusing at first, but now it was getting ridiculous. Hoping more food would distract him from just another problem to deal with, he reached for another biscuit and a flask of pumpkin juice. The frown on his face was becoming more prominent by the second.

"What's wrong, Mr. Frowny-Pants?"

Snape's eyebrow began to twitch as he looked up and met the gaze of a grinning Dumbledore. All this "excitement" was almost too much. Who had ever heard of a breakfast dance-fest at Hogwarts? And who had ever _dared_ call him "Mr. Frowny-Pants"?

"Did you just call me 'Mr. Frowny-Pants'?"

"Sure did, Snape-adoodle!"

He felt his pale cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment as he saw Sprout and Burbage falling over each other to keep from laughing. _I am so glad the students can't hear this…_

"Sir, have you been dipping a bit too much into the mead barrels?"

"No, of course not, Sir Snape-alot!"

"Okay, then you overdosed on Honeydukes, which means any second now your sugar rush is going to end and you're going to fall on the floor unconscious, thank Merlin! This song is freaking getting on my last nerve! How many times can they say the word 'can' in three seconds, honestly?"

"About six or seven." (A/N: I counted.)

"That was a rhetorical question!"

They continued to bicker, and Sprout watched with narrowing eyes. "What, Pomona?" Burbage asked, looking from her to Snape and Dumbledore. "You can't _possibly _think there's anything going on there. Albus loves Minerva, there's no doubt. You're just trying to find someone to blame for a situation you know nothing about!"

Sprout knew she was right but hated to admit it, even to herself. _I just hope Minerva's all right…_

XXX

Woo. Okay, about this update…two of my teachers decided at the same time that they should assign these two huge research projects and have the due dates be within days of each other. So I've been busy with that and my stupid computer that refuses to function and sometimes short-circuits itself. Like last night.

Note: I allude to Neil Cicergia's (butchered the spelling of that last name, sorry) Potter Puppet Pals with "Mr. Frowny-Pants" and "Snape-adoodle." I'm giving credit where credit is due. (Replaying the videos in my head has gotten me through many a boring class.)

Yeah. So. Don't forget to review! And those papers are due really soon, so updates should be faster after this, I promise!


	9. Coming to a Head

remusROXmySOX, I'd like to thank you for being such an awesome reviewer!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine. And neither are the songs I may mention (due credit will be given at the end).

XXX

_I cannot believe Jeremy talked me into doing this!_ McGonagall fumed as she fumbled to put her ice skates on. _I would have much rather just watched…_But it would have been too difficult to say no to his eager, excited, and somewhat nervous face. And it was too hard to resist the positive energy that exuded from his every pore when he was with Marelle. They both, she observed from across the lobby, were now wearing sort of incredulous looks like they still couldn't believe they were together. It was cute, but straining for McGonagall if she looked at them for too long a time.

"Jeremy…on second thought," she called, hobbling over to them. "It would probably be a less painful experience if I watched." Her point was emphasized as she gripped a table to keep from crashing to the floor like a felled oak tree.

"Yeah," Marelle grimaced. "That probably would be a good idea. I don't want you to get hurt, Ms. McGonagall." She smiled at Jeremy briefly. "I'm going to go get warmed up…there weren't exactly a lot of chances for me to keep up with skating in Uzbekistan." With a subtle grace that McGonagall envied, Marelle jogged over to the edge of the rink and sped onto the ice. She was incredible.

"So what are you planning for you-know-what?" McGonagall muttered, elbowing Jeremy in the ribs.

"I've got it figured out. It's really sneaky, so she won't know _what_ hit her." His face was serious but in a goofy sort of way. Or maybe it just seemed goofy because McGonagall had never seen her nephew like that before. "And I'm going to do it right away so I don't chicken out." His anxious words seemed to almost contradict his all-business attitude so much that she had to chuckle a bit as he skated over to join Marelle.

_What in Merlin's name is he going to do?_ It's not that she didn't trust his planning, but the last time he had to act under pressure, he had thought an egg whisk could be considered a suitable weapon. It was the little things that had her worried.

They slowly moved to the other end of the oval rink and eventually went out of earshot. _What luck we have getting the place to ourselves…but I guess they don't get much business on a Thursday—_Her thoughts were interrupted as Jeremy tumbled over and landed on the ice with a dull thunk. But the fall seemed oddly rehearsed…_Oh no, he is _not…

As he steadied himself to stand, he paused on one knee. _Yup, _she thought, slapping her forehead. _He is._

Even from such a far distance, McGonagall could see Marelle's eyes widen when she saw the black box and put two and two together. Her surprise knocked her off balance and soon she was sitting on the ice as well. She slid over to Jeremy and embraced him tightly, nodding.

_Thank Merlin!_

XXX

Her plan had worked perfectly. Jeremy and Marelle were engaged, but now what? The invitations had to be altered, alerting guests to the "minor" change, Jeremy had called it, and also pointing out the change of date. He had to break the news to his mother as well, who had been in the hospital all this time.

But why, she asked herself, had she been so keen on getting them together so quickly? Was she trying to compensate for something alongside her good intentions? _Yes_, murmured a small voice in her head as Dumbledore's face swam into her vision. Honestly, did she really think everything in her life would suddenly fall into place once everything was set in Jeremy's?

It was so overwhelming; she sat on the sofa in the living room later that night, staring at nothing, consumed in her own thoughts, until Jeremy abruptly interrupted.

"Aunt Minerva?" He poked his head in from the kitchen. "I'm going out for a while…try not to blow up and appliances in the meantime, 'K?"

"Wait—where are you going?" McGonagall wondered as she got herself up and over to the kitchen. When she saw him whatever she was about to say escaped her mind completely. He was decked out in a tuxedo, a small instrument case in his hand. She could see why Marelle like him.

"Sorry I forgot to mention it…I've got a performance tonight."

_Right, he went to a school for musicians…_ "Oh really? Where, can I come? I'd love to hear you!"

"It's a wedding…so…I don't think it would work. In any other circumstance I'd love for you to come." He grimaced. "It's up at that big church up at the corner, though, if you wanted to know where I'll be. I've got to go, I'm already pushing it as is." He gave her an awkward one-armed hug, seeing as he was holding his case. "Love you. See you later."

Unfortunately for him, McGonagall did not give up that easily. She was _going_ to hear him play. He may not realize it's her, but she'll be there…

XXX

The church in question did not get justice from being called "big." It was enormous. One section was composed of dilapidated brick and there were additions on all sides, gradually getting newer the further one went from the main building. According to the sign in the yard, it was a historic relic from the colonial era.

On any normal Saturday night, the place would be deserted, but cars packed into the lot and overflowed onto the surrounding street. McGonagall wove through the crowd, avoiding stepping on people's fancy dress shoes. They took no notice of her, and that was just fine. It would have only made her task more difficult. And everything was going so smoothly; the back door had been slightly ajar and there were helpful signs leading to the "musician's alcove" in the sanctuary. _Based on my luck for the past few weeks, I would probably still be outside…squished by a high heel._

She bounced up a short flight of stairs and stood just behind the cracked door. Jeremy sat in a folding chair, setting up his music stand and blowing who-_knew_-what out of his gleaming silver trumpet. _I'll stay here 'til he starts playing…and then I'll sneak in…heeheehee…_

It startled her when he began (it was incredibly loud!) but she could instantly see the effects of his music study in college. For only twenty-five, he sounded like a professional.

In half a second, McGonagall flitted between his feet and positioned herself under his chair. It seemed like a long song, so she took time to clean her whiskers.

"What in the world…?"

Jeremy had finished, and was halfway back to his seat when he spotted her. His eyes flashed with confusion, worry, and slight frustration. "Why is a cat in here?" His voice barely rose above a murmur as he tried to maintain his composure for the multitude of wedding guests in the pews before him. _Man…I'm _so _lucky there's this wall inbetween me and those people…they'd freak if they saw this cat!_

She slid out from under the chair and meandered to the base of his feet. Their gaze locked as the priest below was beginning the ceremony. Suddenly she wanted to laugh. Jeremy's expression of bewilderment was nothing like she'd ever seen. His eyes got all bulgy and darted around nervously as his lower lip was sucked into his mouth. _Relax,_ she tried to tell him telepathically, winking. Only that didn't calm him; he just freaked out more, mouthing words at her and gesticulating wildly, but in a confined space as not to attract attention.

"Aunt Minerva? OH MY GOD. _What_ are you doing here and _why_ are you a cat? I mean, who crashes a wedding as a cat, really? And you could have _told_ me you were coming!" He continued fuming and rambling in silence, until she rolled her eyes, flashing a grin.

"Mommy, look! The twumpet pwayer is funny!"

The priest stopped mid-sentence and slowly revolved to face the completely mortified Jeremy, whose face had turned a nice tomato red. "Is there anything wrong, Mr. Olsen?"

He shook his head, eyes scanning for the blabbermouth toddler who had given him away.

"Good. My apologies, Mr. Anderson…" The groom shrugged as they got back on track.

His anger, mild as it was, waned as McGonagall stretched out over his dress shoes in a feline stretch. _She just wanted to hear me, I guess. Pretty badly, too, to sneak in here when she's not even human._ As he began to relax, his thoughts strayed to Kathryn. _I bet _her_ aunt isn't a witch who can turn into a cat…And I bet _her_ aunt doesn't care as much as Aunt Minerva…_Let her run off to Italy with that fool Raoul. _I'll write her a thank-you note one day for helping me get back with Marelle. She's partly responsible for it, anyways…_

XXX

It was not a good first impression for the poor little first years, seeing their headmaster, proported as being the most powerful wizard in the world, host a drunken dance-fest. And to have teachers not do anything to stop it, that was just ridiculous. So the damage was left to the only person who could drag the intoxicated Dumbledore from the Great Hall. In other words, Snape.

His firm grip on Dumbledore's wrist squashed his feeble resistance as they moved through the corridors. "Really sir," Snape fumed. "That was completely unnecessary! Is this how you deal with her absence? How much mead did you drink?"

"A sip!" he retorted, stumbling slightly.

"How large?"

"The entire barrel, all right?" Dumbledore's glare became focused on the wall, much like a small child being forced somewhere against his will.

"Is this…truly about Professor McGon—"

His question was interrupted by a long, drawn-out intake of breath. _Oh no…this could mean one of three things…He's about to sigh or about to start yelling at me, but he's too drunk to do that…or he could be about to break out into song…and he's definitely drunk enough to do that…_ Snape grimaced, bracing for the worst—

"YOU'RE WAY TOO BEAUTIFUL, GIRL! THAT'S WHY IT'LL NEVER WORK! YOU HAD ME SUICIDAL, SUICIDAL WHEN YOU SAID IT'S OVER! DAMN ALL THESE—"

"_What_ are you doing?" Snape paused and spun around to face the still singing headmaster.

"Singing a song!"

His grip on Dumbledore tightened as he resumed to pull him along. The singing continued, only the alcohol took over and it became more like yelling than singing.

"HEY THERE, DELILAH, WHAT'S IT LIKE IN NEW YORK CITY? I'M A THOUSAND MILES AWAY—"

"Shut up!" It was getting to be too much. Snape had to keep reminding himself that the headache that was coming on was not from a hangover. But it sure felt like one.

"LES ESCALIERS DE LA BUTTE SONT DU AU MISEREUX—"

"Why are you singing in French? You don't know French, just be quiet!"

Dumbledore quickly wrenched his arm free and stood in the middle of the corridor, Snape stopping to gaze back defeatedly. The headmaster still had one more song in his arsenal.

"I CAN'T WAIT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU! YOU CAN'T WAIT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH ME! IT JUST CAN'T BE SUMMER LOVE, YOU'LL SEE—"

And then he was silenced as both his and Snape's eyes fell upon who else other than little Tonks. The three-some stared at each other, quickly realizing that Dumbledore's choice of songs at that moment was _not_ one of his better ideas.

"Oh dear…oh dear," she squeaked quietly as her hair turned the same bright pink color of her face.

"Just…go on to breakfast," Snape muttered as she ran down the hallway. "See what you get us into?" He looked around for Dumbledore and couldn't find him until he turned his attention downward. There he lay, completely unconscious and snoring to boot.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me…" He flicked his wand lazily, lifting Dumbledore's form into the air. "I seriously don't get paid enough to do this…"

XXX

The next afternoon, after making numerous phone calls to his side of the guest list, Jeremy and McGonagall were on their way to the local hospital to visit Peggy and tell her the news. He was obviously a little nervous by the way he rambled on about nothing.

"…Kathryn's family was all she invited and they'd already know all about Raoul, so no need to call them. It'd be too awkward anyway, but…" He continued on in this manner, McGonagall making sure she nodded in all the right places and occasionally throwing in a "Right" or "Of course." She couldn't figure out why he was so anxious. The Peggy she remembered did not have a volatile temper…unless somehow the past twenty-five years of forced separation from her husband had made her bitter. She really hoped it was just Jeremy's overactive imagination in turbo-drive.

Even the power of Jeremy's ranting did not stop them from eventually arriving at the hospital. Soon enough, a friendly nurse was leading them up to her room.

"Is everything…all right?" Jeremy whispered.

"Oh, she's just in a bit of a bad mood, no need to worry," the nurse replied with a smile before returning to her station.

Jeremy made no move towards the door. Instead, he stared at it like it was some unpleasant casserole he was being forced to eat.

"So…" McGonagall ventured. "What happened to her?"

"Fell down a flight of stairs and broke both arms and a leg. I've been telling her she needs to take calcium supplements, but no…she never listened. But her pride wouldn't let her stay around the house in her casts and have me wait on her like she was two. So she offered, for lack of a better word, to put herself up here." He shrugged and hesitantly pushed the door open. "Hey, Mom."

"Jeremy!" Peggy smiled brightly as they entered. "And look, you brought Minerva, how nice." Not much had changed about her sister since she'd seen her last; her black curly hair showed just a few streaks of gray and her ever-present smile was just as happy as it was on the fridge. It did, however, dim slightly as her nondescript brown eyes surveyed McGonagall.

_As usual…_McGonagall thought with some dismay.

"Can I…talk to you about something, Mom?" Jeremy asked cautiously.

"Only if I can ask one question first. Do you know about…" she jerked her head in McGonagall's direction.

"Yeah…but it was purely accidental, honest," he added as Peggy rolled her eyes. "But seriously, Mom…I came to talk to you about Kathryn…she left me—"

"What?" Peggy exclaimed, attempting to flail her arms. Until then, McGonagall hadn't noticed exactly how bad the injuries were. Both arms were covered in plaster up to the shoulder and held in slings supported by the ceiling. The leg cast wasn't as bad; it only came up to the knee.

"But I'm marrying someone else—"

"_Who?_"

"Marelle, you know her…remember what happened our senior year? It was all a huge misunderstanding! And Aunt Minerva, Marelle, and I are taking care of everything so you don't have to worry!"

Peggy leaned her head back against an unusually fluffy pillow. "Well, what I'm worried about is whether Marelle will still want to marry you when she finds out what your aunt is."

"I'll be in the car, Jeremy," McGonagall muttered with an uneasy and hurt look, standing suddenly and heading out the door.

His gaze followed her out and then turned to his mother, a glint of anger in his eyes. "Why'd you have to do that? She's your sister for crying out loud! You don't have to be so intolerant about it!" With a final angry sigh, he jogged out the room, the door slamming behind him. The rattle caused the flickering lamp to waver a bit more violently before glowing steadily again.

"Stupid lamp," Peggy murmured. She glared at nothing in particular, but it lessened the more she stared, taking on a guiltier yet still defiant look. All she could do was sigh.

XXX

"Oh good, you're awake…finally…"

Dumbledore wrenched open his eyes and sat up, rubbing his head. He gazed at himself with confusion. _Since when do I dress _this _eccentrically?_ And then it all came back to him: the drunken dancing, the singing…and Tonks, yet again. He was quite surprised he wasn't experiencing a terrible hangover, but an empty flask caught his eye.

"Thanks for the potion, Severus. And for putting up with me. I know that took a lot, especially from you." Snape nodded in agreement. "What…time is it anyway?"

"Three-thirty in the afternoon. Why?"

Picking up the empty flask, Dumbledore stood and went over to his bookshelf. "Because Severus, we're going to—"

"ALBUS!!!"

The sudden shriek startled both of them as they turned to see who it was. An incensed Professor Sprout stood in the doorway. Her glare was so piercing neither Dumbledore nor Snape had the courage to move.

"I can't believe you two!" she fumed as they exchanged confused glances. "You, Albus, toying with Minerva's emotions so you can go dally with the potions master!"

"Oh, dear Merlin," Snape muttered, closing his eyes.

"Pomona—" Dumbledore started.

"NO! 'What time is it anyway?' You both don't have classes now, and I know what you're about to do! And I bet that's an empty cup of some Viagra potion, isn't it?"

Dumbledore instinctively tossed the cup to the ground as if it was diseased. "No, Pomona, you've got it all wrong—"

"Oh, do I? Explain then!" Sprout clenched her teeth in defiance of anything he might say.

"This flask held an anti-hangover potion, which you can definitely say I needed, if you didn't forget this morning's events. And secondly, I was getting this—" He paused for a moment to rummage through the bookshelf and procure what he'd been searching for: the letter from the previous night. He held it under Sprout's nose. "—so I can set things straight. I'd invite you to come, seeing as your Minerva's friend, but you were the…let's see now…_third_ person this term to question my sexuality, so…no invite for you. Toodles!" He rushed past her forcefully and was halfway down the stairs when he called, "Aren't you coming, Severus?"

That was probably the last thing on Snape's list that he wanted to do, given the awkward circumstances, but he grudgingly trudged over to the stairwell. "I really don't want to know why you're making me come…"

XXX

Woo! OK, so I hope you liked it (the whole Dumbledore-drunk-dancing-singing scenes are some of my favorites out of the entire story, by the way, especially this last one). The next chapter's really long and…well…I guess you'll have to find out. All I'm saying is that there are two more left.

The songs I used are as follows: "Beautiful Girls" by Sean Kingston, "Hey There Delilah" by Plain White T's, "Complainte de la Butte" sung by Rufus Wainwright on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack…I'm not sure who did it originally, and "Summer Love" by Justin Timberlake.

Please review. Even if it's just to say, "What the crap was up with the drunken dancing?" it's appreciated.


	10. I Love Today

You know what's awesome? It snowed today! I was so excited! I just went outside to catch flakes on my tongue 'cause it started up again and ran head on into a big bush…that's how excited I get. (Sorry, snow makes me really happy, so I had to go off on it for a bit…)

Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and I'm not trying to be, OK? OK.

XXX

Time seemed to pass much quicker than it had before after the incident at the hospital. Maybe it was all the hurry to get thing ready for the wedding at the end of September, or perhaps it was all the fun things she had been doing with Jeremy and Marelle, like the day trip to New York City where some Jamaican guy in a clown wig followed them around, singing songs on a ukulele. Between coordinating with the caterers and learning her way around Hartford, she barely had enough time to think.

Except for that night.

McGonagall could hardly believe the calendar; how could September thirtieth be tomorrow? How could Jeremy be getting married tomorrow? It felt like only a week ago that she had showed up at his doorstep, a complete stranger. She would be leaving tomorrow night when Jeremy and Marelle left for their honeymoon, and that meant going back to…Hogwarts. And Albus…

It was like she'd been kicked in the chest; his smiling face invaded her vision, but unlike before, she didn't fight it. McGonagall let herself forget what had happened and just concentrate on _him_. The silver hair…blue eyes with that ever-present twinkle…she could almost feel his presence close, just like that magic moment before Tonks interrupted.

"Aunt Minerva!"

"What? Jeremy? I thought you were downstairs with Marelle, baking the cake or something!" She turned over defiantly in bed, but was blasted awake by a bright ray of sunshine streaming through the window. "Ah!"

"Yeah…" he shifted uncomfortably. "We have to go down to the church in an hour…it's like four-thirty already."

It was hard to believe that she, Minerva McGonagall, had slept almost the entire day, but she did not dwell on her uncharacteristic lapse. She hurriedly climbed out of bed and was already halfway to the closet when she noticed something was odd. "Jeremy, what's wrong? And why are you already in your tuxedo?"

He grimaced, his face showing conflicting traces of worry and excitement. "Just nervous," he mumbled, exiting so she could change.

Her dress was simple, not like any of the extravagant gowns some of Marelle's guests were going to wear (what McGonagall would do with all that fabric she would never know). It was a plain forest green that matched her eyes; it hugged her shape unnaturally well, but that was the only thing that even somewhat bothered her. However, time was racing along too fast for her to relax (_Did I mention Time-Turners to Jeremy or something? This speed is quite unnatural!_).

McGonagall blinked and she was in the car with Jeremy on the way to the church. They passed the Starbucks, the Biscuitville, and Ward Circle; so many happy memories were crammed into a single month, just when they were most needed. It was the glue that put her heart back together. She just wished she could express this to Jeremy…_He wouldn't understand why my heart was broken in the first place…maybe I should have confided a bit more…too late now, I guess…_

But then she blinked again and found herself in the pews of the church, turning to see Marelle approach the altar. Cursing time and its speedy ways and a little more convinced a loose Time-Turner was responsible, she strained not to let a second escape her, but it did. McGonagall didn't even have to blink this time. All of a sudden they were at the reception, and time finally slowed down.

XXX

Snape couldn't believe Dumbledore had been able to literally drag him into this. A full two weeks of wandering around, seemingly getting nothing accomplished, and now there they stood, right at the edge of this huge Muggle party, feeling like a fool. He didn't even know why Dumbledore even wanted to come in the first place. He'd been obviously planning this for a long time, Snape figured, but the wise old headmaster had somehow forgotten to assemble enough knowledge for good disguises. Snape was sensible and chose the _normal_ tuxedo. But no, Dumbledore had to go and pick the "periwinkle blue" one, and not even bother to shorten his long beard. He stuck out like a gnome at a garden party.

"Sir," he finally said. "Why did you get the blue suit? It's so…not normal."

Dumbledore turned his head, rocking back and forth on his heels like a nervous child. "I like blue."

"Psh," Snape snorted. "Wow, what a wonderfully logical reason coming from the most powerful…" He lowered his voice slightly. "…_wizard_…in the world. Yes, you can discover the twelve uses of dragon's blood but you give an exceedingly simple monosyllabic answer to my question. For all I knew you could have chosen blue because it has some sort of psychological effect on people. Psh…'I like blue,' _that's_ intelligent."

Silence ensued and was kept; Snape could see Dumbledore's eyes scanning the many people, but he could not be sure who or what he was searching for.

"So…are you going to tell me why we're here?"

"Not yet…but _speaking_ of monosyllabic words…let's play a game!"

"…Sure," Snape said slowly. He was beginning to suspect that this childish behavior Dumbledore was exhibiting was due to a bit of anxiety, at the least. However, his own bad mood was allowing little room to sympathize and he was quickly becoming frustrated.

"OK. It's the monosyllabic word game! We'll list a bunch of one-syllable words and the first one to use a multi-syllable word loses!" He grinned. "I'll go first: shoe!"

"Exorbitant," Snape muttered flatly.

"Oh! You lose, Severus! Let's play again! Lamp!"

"Onomatopoeia."

"Tut tut, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. "Let's play an easier game, then. We'll make a story one word at a time. I'll start: The—"

"—end. I'm going to go get something to drink," Snape said curtly, walking off.

Only once he was beside the punch bowl did he look back. Dumbledore had lost his cheerfully silly demeanor and looked a bit sullen, longing almost. He was seated, chin in hand, staring at the dance floor. Snape followed the line of his gaze but there were too many people to know who he was watching, if anyone.

XXX

_Muggles can sure throw some wild party,_ McGonagall thought as she closely followed Jeremy and Marelle around the dance floor. The first thing they made sure to do was introduce her to some of their mutual friends.

There was Parker Holiday, a short, blond boy with glasses whose immediate claim to fame was that he jousted his mailbox on a bike and somehow lost. But he wasn't the strangest one by far. Each person McGonagall met had some crazy story to go along with them. Mr. Futmore, their old band director, freaked out once because mice were living in his computer printer. Ethan Seamore and Tom Livingston regularly chased after fire trucks and one time filmed a laptop being chucked out a second-story window. And who could forget Jocelyn Smith and the time she prank called Mr. Pipe (the other band director) in the middle of jazz band practice pretending to be his pregnant wife in labor?

And she thought the _magical_ community was peculiar.

Out of all the people McGonagall met in that short span, one truly stood out. It was Marelle's best friend from even before preschool, Ann-Marie Childress. Her bright red hair and lively green eyes were physical manifestations of her extremely optimistic outlook and buoyant personality. She almost made Jeremy, as cheerful as he was, seem depressing.

"Omigosh, Marelle, I can't believe you and Jeremy are _finally_ together, and married!" Ann-Marie gushed, pulling her into a hug. "It's so exciting!" She looked over at Jeremy, but he seemed oddly preoccupied so she resorted to talking about the good weather conditions for the outside reception, even though it was cloudy and a little chilly.

"Jeremy, what's wrong, dear?" McGonagall asked.

"Ah," he stammered, snapping his attention back. "N-nothing, just a little overwhelmed, y'know…" A smile, one of those annoying all-knowing ones, crossed his face before hurrying off unexpectedly to stop Parker from doing something stupid. Something about rounding up a bunch of guys to "party boy" Marelle, Ann-Marie, and now Jocelyn (whatever that meant).

Seeing Jeremy as happy as he was…it made the long journey completely worthwhile. This party was a fitting culmination to a very eventful (not to mention emotional) trip. When she returned to Hogwarts tomorrow, her heart would readily accept whatever was in store, with Albus, or Pomona, or anyone. Times were different. The war was over. Life could be enjoyable again: forget the Order, forget stress!

_And speaking of forgetting stress…those refreshments are looking mighty tasty…might have to go grab one…_

XXX

Filch had been right; his addiction to Snickers bars was getting unhealthy, Dumbledore admitted, but this was his _last_. He had to go prance with the nougat in the meadows at least once before…his heart leapt to his throat in anticipation and worry. What if he screwed up again, but worse? He couldn't bear to think about it.

And then he finally saw her. McGonagall was crossing the dance floor toward the food table, which was conveniently lacking crowds. What luck! But at the same time, Dumbledore couldn't help but be floored by just the sight of her after this past month. He would have had a hard time doing this anyhow, but she just _had_ to be wearing something that made her breathtakingly ravishing to increase the difficulty. _I'll be lucky if I can get out of my chair…_

With a final bite of Snickers, he forced himself out of the seat and to take the fateful steps towards McGonagall, to the one he'd been obsessing and worrying about for years…to his love.

XXX

_Ah, now I see…_Snape thought as he caught Dumbledore waltzing carefully over to the buffet, near—none other than Minerva McGonagall.

_Good for him_, he thought sincerely, but then added bitterly, _I just don't want to be there when they start kissing…blech._

XXX

The brownie looked delectable; McGonagall doubted that even Honeydukes could have made such a fine looking specimen. She tasted it when she got to the end of the table and her expectations were not disappointed at all. Everything was perfect—

"Excuse me, madam. Would you like to dance?"

The voice made her stop in her tracks. It was the familiar voice that dominated her dreams and conscious thought, the one that calmed her and made her adrenaline rush all at the same time. It flowed sweetly with overwhelming sincerity and with the tiniest touch of guilt. It couldn't be, it couldn't be…and then she looked up.

And it was.

"A-Albus?" she choked, partly skeptical, partly incredulous, but thoroughly amazed.

Dumbledore nodded, eyes glowing, a small grin growing larger by the second. "Minerva, I'd be honored if you'd dance with me…that is, if you still want to."

She could hardly believe he was still berating himself, expecting her to point-blank refuse and walk off. A horrible sense of guilt suddenly filled her. "I'd be delighted, to say the least." She took his hand and her heart started working overtime as they moved to the dance floor. The song was a calm sort of ballad; the timing couldn't have worked out better.

Being in Dumbledore's arms dancing felt natural, almost. Her many worries were dispelled further away than previously thought possible, especially when gazing into his eyes.

"I love music," he said suddenly as a verse in the song ended. His hold on her tightened as he gazed down on her. "The lyrics of any song can give even the most inarticulate person a beautiful way to describe their feelings—"

"Albus, I'm sorry for leaving!" McGonagall blurted out without warning.

He tilted her chin up so he could look her square in the eyes. "Minerva, dear…I'm sorry for giving you a reason." And then before she had time to take in what he was saying, he clutched her to his chest and she felt his cheek rest upon the top of her head. The music had stopped, yet they did not move. "You do know that I love you…no slip-up of mine can ever change that…it's like someone put a Permanent-Sticking Charm on it…"

McGonagall felt herself chuckle softly, but her mind was far away, engrossed in his words. Her own words she was trying to say were coming out jumbled. "Albus…I…the…you…" She finally sighed and readjusted her head against him. "Me too," she eventually whispered.

"You don't know how much…that means to me." If she hadn't known they were underneath a tent, McGonagall would have thought it had started to drizzle. "Can I show you?" he muttered, slowly peeling her away. But he didn't wait for her to respond; he swooped down and kissed her with all the strength and passion he could muster. They gradually came back together, lost in each other. But in the distance, McGonagall vaguely heard someone celebrating, yelling "YES!" over and over (it sounded a lot like Jeremy, actually…).

They finally broke apart, many hours or only half a second later; neither could tell. And before they even had time to regain their bearings, Jeremy was rushing towards them, followed by a confused Marelle.

"See, see?" he was saying hastily, looking towards Dumbledore. "I told you, Albus! Aunt Minerva _so_ still loved you!"

"What?" McGonagall and Marelle blurted at the same time.

"Aunt Minerva, I may have…read that letter Albus sent…and corresponded with him…and…arranged this whole thing…" he explained, almost as if he'd done something wrong. "And Marelle," he continued. "It's really complicated, but Albus is the head of the school Aunt Minerva works at and they had a big misunderstanding before they hooked up…and well…yeah."

McGonagall couldn't help but smile at Jeremy's words and as Dumbledore pulled her into a tight one-armed hug. "Jeremy, that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever don't for me." And gazing back into Dumbledore's eyes that so shockingly resembled her nephew's, she could see even more similarities than just that.

"Give yourself some credit, Minerva," chuckled Dumbledore. "At least for getting Jeremy and Miss Marelle together. Just think—where would we all be if Minerva had not come to visit!"

XXX

If trying to give him love advice was awkward, then watching two of his colleagues-slash-former teachers making out was torturously nauseating. So much joy and happiness! Their love life was complete, a happy ending. His was over, with no hope…he could and would love only Lily until he could draw no more breath…and he had killed her, killed his only chance at a fulfilling life, happiness—

"Why so glum?"

Snape looked up, his frown still present, but disappearing once he made eye contact with the stranger; it was replaced by a sense of dumb surprise.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!"

The green eyes. The red hair. The facial features that almost matched up exactly. He _was_ seeing a ghost: Lily Evans, in the flesh—"Who…who are you?"

"My name's Ann-Marie Lily Childress! I'm Marelle's maid of honor! What's yours?"

"…Severus…Snape…" She had her name—

"Mmm…Severus…that's a nice, archaic name. Nice t'meet you, Sev!" She used her nickname for him—

"May I…call you Lily?'

"Sure, whatever floats your boat. A lot of people do that, actually, since 'Ann-Marie' is a bit of a mouthful." Ann-Marie surveyed his still-bewildered expression. "Hold on." She dashed off and returned not even three seconds later with a huge glass of something, Snape couldn't figure out what. "Here. It's vodka, and a lot of it. You need to relax, Sev! It's a wedding, not a funeral! Take a gulp and come dance!"

(A/N: At this point I need to say one thing: I came up with this idea with Snape before I read "The Mistake of Benevolence," which has a similar concept. I did not steal it, I swear!)

He downed nearly half in a hasty sip; this was _not_ firewhiskey, that was for sure. She must have seen his eyes widen in surprise as the alcohol immediately went into his bloodstream.

"You still want to dance, or are you going to be too wobbly?"

He shook his head and took her outstretched hand; it was like he'd taken a sip of Felix Felicis the way that he suddenly knew where to go. They skirted in between the crowds, hand in hand, Snape's face becoming prominently more flushed, until they got to a relatively secluded spot on the dance floor. "Can I…rant for a bit? It may not make any sense to you, but…I need to do this."

Ann-Marie waited, a grin still playing on her lips, saying nothing.

"Lily…I am too sorry for words for everything I did to you, to your family, to everyone…and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even though I don't deserve it at all for what I did to you and the sheer horribleness of this apology because I love you, I love you…and I don't know how to survive without you…or without knowing you're happy and safe somewhere, I really don't." He took a shaky breath as he blinked back tears, Ann-Marie slowly coming back into focus.

She smiled, obviously not sure what to make of his speech. "Well, Sev…I had no idea what you were talking about, but I can tell I need to do something to help your peace of mind," she murmured. She leaned closer to him and spoke at a normal volume. "It's OK, Sev, I forgive you completely…and deep down, I'm sure I love you too."

Ann-Marie had no possible way to know what that meant to him. A smile began to hesitantly break across his face as he stepped forward, closing the space between them. "Thank you," he mumbled, before leaning down to her smaller frame and kissing her deeply.

She was taken off guard, but did nothing to resist; she even kissed back. Severus was charming and likable, although a bit odd and definitely carrying a heavy heart. His kiss was relieved and mournful at the same time (for reasons unbeknownst to her), and the latter made her not want to break away, for his sake.

XXX

"Ah, look Minerva. Severus has found himself a friend," Dumbledore chuckled.

The group turned to look, Marelle reacting the most. "Holy crap in a handbag…that's Ann-Marie! Who in the world is that?"

Jeremy eyed her strangely as his face practically screamed "Holy crap in a handbag?" while Mr. Futmore, the band director, walked by, muttering something like "…students stealing my catch-phrases…"

"That's just my friend, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Who?" she asked again, still confused.

"Marelle," Jeremy intervened. "He's the Potion…ography teacher."

Silence.

Marelle stared for a second before shaking her head slightly. "What?"

"Ocean…ography teacher. You know, oceans?" He gave a nervous smile as he flapped his arms about in a manner that was most un-ocean-like; it more accurately resembled some oversized bird.

"Albus…" McGonagall whispered. "Doesn't Ann-Marie look remarkably like Lily Potter?" She stared at Dumbledore as he raised his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

Jeremy and Marelle, in the meantime, were adamantly debating whether or not "normal British boarding schools teach oceanography," while Marelle tried to guess what subject McGonagall taught (ranging from "geometry" to "nursing" to "maintenance of peculiar species of chickens").

"No, Aunt Minerva teaches…she teaches…" Jeremy sputtered. "_Sculpture! _She teaches sculpture! Y'know…taking something and turning it into something else, like a big boring rock into a pretty fountain!"

Dumbledore seemed to find this explanation rather amusing. "Smart lad."

"At least he didn't involve an egg whisk this time," she smiled. Upon seeing Dumbledore's confused expression, she launched into the story of Feisty Fred.

"…and then, even though he had stepped on it, it was still alive. And the claw was growing at an abnormal pace."

"Mundungus Fletcher," Dumbledore sighed. "Arthur Weasley nearly caught him with that charmed crab before he sent it over to America. What an amusing coincidence!"

"Yes, it was all very amusing," McGonagall said with a hint of sarcasm. "Next time I'll set a demonic crab on _your_ face and see how you like it."

"Ah, what a wonderful little party!" All heads turned to the source of the newcomer, but had to look down to discover who it was. Peggy Olsen was rolling towards them in a wheelchair, pulling herself with her legs as her plastered arms hung precariously over the armrests. "Congratulations, Jeremy, Marelle." She smiled sincerely, and as she turned to McGonagall her expression took on a hint of confusion; after all, Peggy had never seen Dumbledore before in her life. "It's hard to believe that after all these years of romantic tension that you've finally gotten together!"

"Mom," Jeremy ventured. "How'd you get here?"

She laughed. "Escaped. I took out a nurse with one of my arm casts and stole the wheelchair she had. After that, it was simple, y'know…just running people over in a chair. The security guards…psh…no match for Plaster Woman."

"Is the most accurate word for that really 'escape'?" McGonagall inquired.

"If you _must_ know, Minerva, they actually thought I would try something like this, so _yes_, it was an escape." Peggy stared at her with a sort of cold, frustrated look that said she would be glaring if Jeremy weren't there; McGonagall looked back in the same fashion.

Jeremy, sensing the tension, finally spoke. "So…um…anyways…how about that…uh…uh…" His hands gesticulated in circles as he tried to think of something to talk about.

"Albus Dumbledore! What in the _world_ are you doing here?"

Once more, they all turned toward the unfamiliar voice and saw a tall man with auburn hair, pale gray eyes, and a faded scar across one cheek. Everyone seemed confused, minus Dumbledore and Peggy.

"CYRUS!" Peggy awkwardly dragged herself over to her long-lost husband, but he beat her there. He lifted her up into the most loving embrace her casts would allow.

"I missed you so much," he sighed.

"I see you're back from Albania," Dumbledore said as Cyrus put Peggy back into the wheelchair.

"Yeah…my department basically said there's no point in me staking out for You-Know-Who if he's no longer alive, right?"

Silence.

Thankful that no one else outside the group was in earshot, McGonagall looked from Cyrus to Dumbledore and back again. "You're a _wizard_?"

Cyrus let out a low whistle. "You didn't know?" His mouth curled into a grimace that was reminiscent of Jeremy's. "And you didn't either?" he asked guiltily, side-glancing Jeremy. "Oh dear…well…come along, let's catch up. Marelle, is it? You can come too."

Dumbledore looked over at McGonagall. "I'm going to go too, to catch up as well. You don't mind, do you?" She shook her head reluctantly and soon she was alone with her half-sister.

"So…" she sighed. "No problem with your husband, but a problem with me. Care to explain?" Her piercing glare that she often reserved for seriously misbehaving students bored down on Peggy.

"_Your_ stupid British magic government recruited him and forced him to play spy in Albania all this time for some silly little criminal that they can't catch. And then there's you…" Peggy lets a sigh of hot anger escape her. "You, working with some underground society with the government…doing exactly what Cyrus was doing, but oh look! _You_ got to stay close to home. _You_ got to work with the government without being on the front lines. _You—"_

"Peggy, that's enough. You have no idea what sort of fallacies you are spewing." McGonagall didn't yell, but she didn't need to. As she spoke each word, it felt like a hammer was beating against her skull. The desired effect was achieved: Peggy shut right up.

"As for a 'silly little criminal'…Voldemort…was no such thing. Maybe if you had even cared to investigate, you might have noticed how the number of murders and 'accidental' deaths in Britain were the highest they've been in fifty years. Coincidence? No. Far from it. The Order of the Phoenix did _not _work with the government, for many of the lower-security departments had been infiltrated by the enemy's spies. And as for staying close to home and not being on the front lines…I _daresay_ that Cyrus and each of his other colleagues returned home alive. More than half of the members of the Order were not so lucky. So if you even dare to try and understand what's been going on in our world and start to try and falsely accuse me, don't think that any sort of Muggle Protection Act will stop me from hexing you." And with a quiet huff, McGonagall turned away from her stunned sister. From time to time, Peggy could still hear McGonagall muttering things under her breath, catching a few words: "…I'd just need to explain it to Madam Bones…" or "…What would be better, _petrificus totalus _or _rictumsempra_…?"

"…Minerva?"

"What?"

"I'm—"

And at that point, the others had just returned. Marelle seemed quite confused, as though everyone else had been explaining things all around her but never truly filling her in completely. Jeremy just looked floored that his father showed up _and_ was a wizard.

Dumbledore shuffled over to McGonagall as soon as he laid eyes on her, wrapping his arm around her waist and trying to ebb her obvious anger. "Albus…" she whispered. "I've just realized…if Cyrus is a wizard…"

His eyes twinkled extra bright at her words. "Hold on. Let me test something." He turned toward a waiter, whirling back around, now armed with a sizable stick of French bread and whacking Jeremy broadside in the face.

"DUDE!" Jeremy stared incredulously. "I hook you up with my aunt, and then you go slapping me upside the head with a baguette? _What_ is your major malfunction?" His stare slowly turned into a glare, and suddenly the overhead light started flickering up a storm.

"Aha," Dumbledore mumbled. "So sorry," he continued at normal volume. "But Jeremy, my boy, guess what? You're a wizard too."

"Too?" Marelle muttered, raising an eyebrow.

Jeremy took a while to let it sink in. He blinked furiously, his mouth forming words but never speaking them, and his eyes darted around from person to person before he simply stared at the group before him. "Damn!" He turned on his heel and marched away, leaving everyone a bit perplexed.

"Oh dear. Well…I'm sure he meant that in the nicest way possible," Marelle reassured them. "He's just surprised. As am I. He'll explain more later, I guess…" She hurried after them, darting in between the waning number of guests.

"That went well," Cyrus chuckled after a moment, right as Snape joined the group, his balance unstable. He had to rely on Ann-Marie's shoulder to keep from sinking to the ground.

"Wha'di miss?" he slurred.

"Severus," McGonagall stated coldly, assuming her usual disciplinarian demeanor. "Go to bed."

"Yeah!" he yelled. "'Cause I'm an oceanography teacher! LOVE THOSE DOLPHINS!" (A/N: I can personally say the previous line is my favorite in the entire story.) He stumbled off in the supposed direction of the car they had taken, Ann-Marie steering him out of the paths of obstacles, like the buffet table.

"So how did he know we called him an oceanography teacher?" Dumbledore wondered aloud. On cue, everyone's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and they eventually turned their heads to stare at where Snape had been a few moments earlier. They did not dwell on it long; Jeremy and Marelle had returned.

"Sorry," Jeremy sighed. "Big news…" His gaze swept around the group: broken lives had been fixed, people had been reunited…it was almost…too perfect. But he wasn't about to complain.

"Well…" he continued, putting his arm around McGonagall's free shoulder. "This is wrapping up quite nicely!" (A/N: Sorry, couldn't resist.)

Marelle joined him on his other side; her hand crawled along his back until it found his waist. "What do you mean, Jer? The night's still young!"

"Marelle, what is there left to do at one in the morning—" His eyes fell upon her small amused grin. "Oh…oh…oh …" His face flushed faster than anyone's McGonagall had ever seen. _Poor thing, he's so embarrassed…_she thought.

"Right!" Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping his hands together once. "I see you all have a lot of catching up…or…whatever else to do. So we should be off!" He and McGonagall stepped around the corner in search of Snape, who they found sitting on the ground, slightly dazed.

"I—hic—tol'her t'leavemebe! Whenerwe—hic—leavin'?"

Jeremy rounded the corner as well and looked at McGonagall with mixed emotions. "I wish you didn't have to leave…" he mumbled, head down.

"C'mere…" She gave him a heartfelt hug. "It was amazing here, Jeremy, but unfortunately, I do have to return to school. You do know I'm only an owl away?" His mouth moved like it was trying to smile; she took the opportunity to lean into his ear and whisper, "Thank you."

She and Dumbledore each took one of Snape's hands. "I'll be seeing you soon, don't worry." And with a loud crack they Disapparated and the space was empty.

XXX

Heehee! Yay for climactic chapters! This isn't the ending, by the way. There's another chapter coming. (And don't forget to review!)


	11. Epilogue

So…last chapter-ness. Terribly sorry for the long update…the holidays were really busy (hope yours were fun too) and I've got exams to look forward to in a couple weeks, so…yeah. My brain's fried.

Disclaimer: In case I haven't reiterated this enough, I don't own JK Rowling's characters!

Epilogue

Snow was falling quietly on the village of Hogsmeade, coating the dusty ground with its first thin layer of white of winter. Except for a slight sound of a bird or two, all was peaceful. It was strange for the residents to have a prospect of a normal holiday—Voldemort normally being his evil self at this time—but they thoroughly took advantage of it. The shops and pubs of the town had been decorated more than they had in years.

With a sudden slam, the door to the Three Broomsticks flew open, forcing the tiny birds to scatter haphazardly. "IT'S SNOWING!" Jeremy ran outside and danced around in circles; Marelle and McGonagall stood in the doorway, watching with amused looks.

"Thanks for talking Professor Dumbledore into letting me stay here too," Marelle said as she covered her eyes to keep from laughing. "Am I the only Muggle that lives in Hogsmeade?"

"Think so…Albus smoothed it over with the Ministry, so everything's fine." McGonagall sighed and rolled her eyes while Jeremy continued to spin around.

"I can't believe he didn't opt for private instruction," she continued. "How's he going to fit in with a class of eleven-year-olds?"

"Trust me," Marelle chuckled. "If he doesn't let them in on how he's twenty-five, then they're just going to think he was their age…with a huge growth spurt." Their gazes met both silently agreeing as Jeremy slowed, wobbling around.

"So…dizzy…"

"Jeremy, please," McGonagall sighed again. "Albus wanted you up for your Sorting at least ten minutes ago. You can't go if you're dizzy…the Sorting hat would not appreciate being covered in your half-digested lunch."

XXX

Marelle, seeing as she was a Muggle and couldn't have come up to the castle, stayed behind to set up the apartment Madam Rosmerta had lent to them for the duration of Jeremy's schooling. Jeremy, on the other hand, was so anxious about his Sorting that it instantly reminded McGonagall of his nervousness before the wedding.

"So…you're the head of Gryffindor? And then…your friend Professor Sprout is Hufflepuff…and Severus is Slytherin…and that short guy that you said ate all that turkey that one time is Ravenclaw." He squinted his eyes shut in an attempt to calm himself down. "OK. OK…which one do you think I'll be in?"

"For the last time, I'm not sure," McGonagall chuckled. "Don't stress too much over it. Any of them are fine, really." They arrived at the gate, where Filch was scrubbing grime off of the iron.

"'Ello, Professor," he grunted. "I took your advice…my hair smell like passionfruit now! Care to take a whiff?" He held out a scraggly strand.

"Uh…no thanks, Argus…we've got to get to the headmaster's office." She gave him the strangest look and walked off, making sure to grab Jeremy arm (as he seemed to have stalled).

"Who's that creepy guy?" he asked, his head still turned and looking at Filch. "Man, he is the _definition_ of sketchy. Who in their right mind asks you to smell their hair? And…what in the world is a passionfruit? That's even _more _sketchy! Is there anything about that guy that isn't somewhat disturbing?"

"Not really," McGonagall said curtly, but Jeremy could tell she was trying to stifle a laugh.

XXX

Gargoyles were never part of Jeremy's "favorite things" list. Even when he studied them in European history class, they gave him the creeps. And now he was staring at a living, breathing, glaring one. One that talked. To _him._

"What's the password?" it grunted.

"Um…what _is_ the password, Aunt Minerva?" he muttered, side-glancing the frustrated McGonagall.

"It's always some sort of candy…oh yes! Now I remember! Snickers Bar!" she declared confidently.

"Sorry, professor. Can't let you in," the gargoyle (whose name for reasons unknown even to the author happened to be François-Laverne) said with a sly grin.

Immediately, her nostrils flared. "What are you talking about? You opened for Snickers in September! Snickers, Snickers, Snickers!" But all François-Laverne did was chuckle. "Jeremy, Albus has been on a Muggle sweets rampage. Name some."

"Well…" he began timidly. "There are…kind of…a lot. Like, Skittles and M&Ms and Reeses and Twix and Butterfingers and Dum-Dums and Mars Bars and Crunches and Tootsie Rolls and Whatchamacallits and Reeses Pieces and Sour Straws and Sour Patch Kids and—"

"I do believe Professor Dumbledore had a recent shipment of…I think they were called 'Three Musketeers?'" drawled a voice from behind them.

They both stared at Snape for a moment, and then McGonagall burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. It seemed she could barely breathe, for all of the things she said were disjointed words.

"Severus—ridiculous—Merlin—out-of-character—never seen anything—"

Despite this obvious distraction, he and Jeremy remained quite casual. "I think she's laughing at your hat," Jeremy said with a nod towards Snape's head.

"So it would seem." They both took a quick glance back towards McGonagall, who had fallen to the ground and was still in stitches. "Yes…Ann-Marie sent it to me, y'know…as friends. I may have mentioned how drafty it gets here during the winter."

"Oh, so you're calling her by her first name? That's good, good." Sensing the awkwardness, he had to pause. "She pick the color?"

Snape adjusted the hat so it fit more snugly over his ears. "Obviously. You don't see me running amok in this color usually."

"—story—if James could see—RIOT!!!—such paraphernalia—"

"_Ahem._"

What a scene for Dumbledore to come upon: McGonagall crying on the floor because she's laughing so hard, Snape donning a baby-blue beanie hat decorated with little dolphins, and Jeremy acting so nonchalant about it all. It must have been at times like these that Dumbledore didn't feel _as_ strangely eccentric as everyone claimed.

However, even his control over his composure could not prevent the headmaster from letting out a stifled chuckle at the sight of Snape's hat. "Well then." His eyes fell upon the calming and reddening McGonagall as she tried to stand. "Seeing as one of our party is temporarily unable to safely move up the stairs to my office, would you mind having your Sorting down here, Jeremy?"

"Um…no. That's fine."

And without warning, the hat was slammed onto Jeremy's head (almost as if Dumbledore had been expecting something like this to happen) and the young man's blue eyes were swallowed up by the ragged brim.

"Is it supposed to be this big—AH! IT TALKS!!!" Jeremy whipped the hat off and tossed it like it was a diseased ferret back at the headmaster.

"It's _supposed _to talk," Snape sighed, miffed, grabbing the hat from Dumbledore's surprised frame. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Look who's talking," McGonagall muttered.

Once again, the hat was placed on his head, and they waited…and waited…and waited, the three professors clearly growing more frustrated or worried by the second.

"I have made my decision!" the hat declared, aware that some warning was probably needed after such a long wait. "GRYFHUFSLYTHERCLAW!"

Silence.

"Or…RAVERLINDORPUFF!"

More silence.

"Also…HUFFLCLAWSLYTHERDOR!"

And even more silence.

"Hat," Dumbledore said carefully. "There are no such houses."

"So?" it muttered. "I couldn't come to a decision. I made some up. Big deal."

"Do I not get a house?" Jeremy sighed as Snape snatched the hat off his head.

"Jeremy…" Dumbledore took a deep breath as he pinched the top of the bridge of his nose in thought. "Well…you _are_ twenty-six. We can have the professors schedule private lessons, or you could take the classes with the younger students and just go back to Hogsmeade at night…or…" His voice trailed off as he realized there weren't exactly many options for a previously unheard-of situation.

"Or…" Jeremy said in an obvious trying-to-be-convincing manner. "I could teach myself! I practiced with this one Transfiguration spell and I got really good! See? _Feraverto!_" he said, brandishing his wand without looking where he was pointing.

And all of a sudden, Snape was gone. There was just his little hat; underneath, however, stood a pale green goblet.

"Oops," Jeremy whispered. "Aunt Minerva, how do you change him back?"

"Oh, that's not something _you_ want to be present for. Go on." She grabbed his elbow and half-pushed him down the corridor that would take him to her office. "Do you mind taking care of Severus, Albus? Jeremy's clearly too much of a liability to be left alone for _too_ long."

Dumbledore chuckled and pulled her into a hug. "Of course I don't mind. I do think it shall be rather fun to mess with him a bit." Quickly, he reached down and grabbed the dolphin hat, securing it on his own head. "This is quite a warm hat!"

"The dolphins suit you better anyways," McGonagall laughed as she leaned in to peck him on the mouth. No sooner had they parted did a small distant explosion echo from down the hallway, followed by a cry of "THEY'RE MELTING! THEY'RE MELTING!!!"

"Oh dear. I better go…fix that." Her emerald eyes looked up at his blue ones apologetically.

"Don't worry, Minerva. And…care to join me for dinner at seven tonight…if you don't melt as well?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. "And you won't have to get Pomona to bust in my door this time either."

Dumbledore watched her leave with a slight grin before picking up poor Snape-the-goblet. And as if nothing was strange about the situation at all, he unscrewed a flask of pumpkin juice, poured its contents into Snape-the-goblet and pulled a Three Musketeers bar from the folds of his cloak. "Hm…" he muttered after taking a sip. "My, my, Severus. You make a mighty fine goblet."

XfinX

Yeah…weird ending. Sorry about that.

Thanks to all the people who are currently reading this 'cause that means you read the entire thing. Yay! I would give you a cookie, but I don't know where you live. If I did, that would be very sketchy. So…please review, especially if there's something I can improve upon in future fics.


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